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chrattenthusiast · 1 year ago

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Car sex- Chris sturniolo

Warning: nsfw, minors dni ( or do idc), not entirely proof read

authors note : slight romance, dom chris but he’s sweet!!!???, i get slightly poetic at the end (sorry)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You get up from your vanity after finishing your night routine, winding down for the night. When your phone buzzes, you pick up the cellular device and glance at the text you received.

* you up baby?*

You smile smugly, Chris and you weren’t anything but two people that craved intimacy without the need for labels.

*yeah, see you in 15* —you say,knowing it was a regular routine that happened 2 maybe 5 times a week

You hastily change into comfortable clothing, slipping into a matching set, knowing that it would be torn to shreds by the end of the night. Finishing up the rest of your routine, you get another text that Chris is outside.

Cautiously opening your bedroom window in hopes of not disrupting your family members, you safely make it down the ground. Your eyes shift to Chris silhouette sitting in the car parked across the street. Getting in the car he gives you a smile.

“I’ve missed you “ he says

“ I saw you 3 days ago” you say

“exactly” he jokes

He takes you to the cherished spot you both discovered during numerous drives, that left you both thoroughly content at the end of the night

Parking at your destination, neither of you utter a word. He takes the initiative, brushing your loosely fallen hair, and though you don't meet his gaze, it's the longest you've gone without eagerly leaping into his arms.

“You shy now? That’s a little out of your nature don’t you think” he says tauntingly

Chris gently grasps your jaw, planting a tender kiss on your lips. You however escalate by pulling his chain to bring him more closer

“There she is” he says

His hands firmly grip your waist, effortlessly lifting you over the gear as you straddle his waist. The intimate dance of your lips mirrors the growing intensity between you. your hands moves from chris’s shoulder to the back of his hair lightly tugging at it. drawing him even closer, blurring the already minimal space between you two.

a soft moan escapes your lips as chris gently tugs at your pony tail, making his way to the nape of your neck leaving rough kisses

“fuck, get in the back” he says

Without hesitation, he swiftly follows, his fingers deftly tugging at the waistband of your pants, skillfully sliding off the material. In a seamless motion, he grabs the hem of your hoodie, pulling it off to reveal the matching set you had put on earlier

“ all this for me?” he says

you internally shrink from his intense gaze and move to cover yourself up when he pushes your hands away.

“take my pants off for me baby” , you oblige lifting yourself up from his lap tugging of the material.

He grabs onto the waistband of your underwear, swiftly tearing through the flimsy fabric. A silent gasp escapes you as you curse inwardly, aware that yet another pair joins the countless others he's unraveled. Chris grabs onto your arms, pinning them behind your back.

Chris's fingers glide across your entrance, gathering your wetness. A gasp escapes you, and you throw your head back, wanting to shut your legs, but his lap confines you, denying that option.

"You're so wet for me," he says, looking down at you, taking his fingers. You watch as Chris is in a complete daze, slipping another finger. You move your hips, trying to match his rhythm as he moves painfully slow, enjoying the fact that it made you miserable, knowing he had so much control over you.

“please” is all you blurt out

“please what hm” he asks you

“faster chris fuck” you say frustrated

He fastens his pace; you meet his gaze, and a small moan escapes you. Feeling proud of the way you respond to his movements, he lets you enjoy it, almost letting you reach that point of release. When suddenly, he pulls his fingers out of you, causing an audible whine to escape your mouth.

you glare at him. internally cussing at him and why he had to restrict you from the one thing he was so good at giving you. no one could make you feel like he did and he knew that.

His boxers meet the other clothing piled onto the floor, grabbing your hips slowly but assertively, forcing you down onto his dick. He begins to move his hips at a less frustrating pace, pinning your arms behind your back and leaving you no leeway to escape, your clit stimulated by his shaft.

you subconsciously hold back your moans, not wanting to let every sound leave your lips. and chris notices

“let it all out for me, i know you want to” he says

still not convinced you continue to bite on your lip not entirely comfortable with the concept. which is when chris picks up his pace up further

He pulls down on the back of your head, making you maintain the level of his gaze. With your hands pinned back and nowhere else to run, you have no choice but to oblige.

His free hand comes down on your ass, giving you a harsh smack. Massaging the area to soothe the sting, he smiles as you let out a loud moan at the mix of pain and pleasure.

“i’ve missed you, you know “ he says continuing to buck his hips focusing on making you feel good

“you miss me baby?” he whispers against your lips

"Yeah, Chris," you blurt out, unsure why he'd want to talk when your head is all fuzzy from him hitting all the right spots.

“how much ? show me” he releases the restrain he had on your arms

“ride me.” he demands

You move your hips up and down over his shaft, soaking him with every motion. His grip is harsh enough to bruise as he groans, and you bend lower, meeting his lips to give him a sloppy kiss, taking every inch of him inside you.

You separate from the kiss, leaning your hands on his shoulders, wanting him to be closer. He takes notice, wrapping his arms around your back and pulling you closer.

“better?” he asks and you nod unable to form a single sentence

You continue to quicken your pace, and Chris watches you with nothing but love and possessiveness, even letting out hushed sighs. He uses his grip on you to bring you down, orchestrating your body to his own accord you instantly accept.

The car is filled with the sounds of your hips moving at the perfect rhythm and the kisses he leaves against your jaw. He bucks his hips to touch that spot that could send you into a frenzy.

“Chris," you whine, "please don't stop. I'm—"

“ i know baby” he whispers “ you wanna come for me?”

your stomach crumples at his word, as he continues to slide up and down inside you

“answer me” he says calmly not struggling to form as sentence as you were

“yes chris, please” you plead for the hundredth time tonight

pressing his forehead against yours, he smiles at how hard you were squeezing him, fighting the urge to cum so hard inside you. he takes the alternative route and pushes his grunts down

“who does this pussy belong to” he says

“you chris” you say quickly

He looks at you without slowing down the pace he had you moving at. It's too much for you, and he knows it, but he loves pushing you past your limits. He relishes being the only one who makes you feel this way, never failing to mention it every time he ends up inside you.

"Look down at how well you're taking me," he says, and you do as you're told. He takes his thumb, circling your sensitive clit, smiling when it makes you tear up.

“now look at me, has anyone ever made you feel this way?”

“no” you answer hastily

“and no one ever will ” he says “yeah?”

you nod quickly as it started to get overwhelming. his fingers.his dick. him

“i need to hear you say it” he pleads

“yes chris, i’m yours. every part. i promise” you say

“atta girl” he groans as your walls clamped against him. “ you can come baby” he encourages

and you do instantly, releasing yourself all over him feeling nothing but relief as chris continues to circle your clit faster driving you off the edge dragging your orgasm further.

you grasp onto him as you felt like you would pass out; your vision blurred with white spots from the intensity

chris watches you proudly as you let out the loudest moan with no shame, soon you feel chris realese into you letting out a sigh of relief.

His gaze shifts to your face, puffy lips, and tear-stained cheeks. Kissing the tears that fell from your eyes, he trails his fingers up and down your back, comforting you.

You attempt to lift yourself from him, a routine that usually leaves your heart slightly heavy—not out of regret, but with the lingering hope that someday you might truly have him. At times, you feel a sense of self-reproach for thinking that way, knowing well that it was a mutual agreement between the both of you to avoid emotional involvement. Despite its unhealthy nature, a selfish part of you rationalizes that having him physically, even if not in the way you desire, is sufficient.

—but he holds you steadily, the feeling of your release and his dripping, makes it harder to push those feelings away

“let me take you out “ he states

“on a date” he says bluntly

You're caught off guard by the unexpected proposition, your assumption that your connection with Chris was solely physical shattered. Chris maintains eye contact, a hint of anxiety surfacing in anticipation of your reaction.

“okay ” you say

“okay” he replies.

you both stay in the same position. as he places a kiss on your forehead innocently, him still burried deep inside you as you stare at each other. You silently hope that he wouldn’t leave you on the edge of heartache.

#chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets

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shotoh · 1 year ago

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❝ SO… ASS, T!TS, OR THIGHS? ❞ feat. itoshi sae

— what’s his preference?

cw + tw. 18+, smut, minors dni, fem!reader, dom!sae, all characters are aged up to over their 20s, sae’s ogling you (respectfully and as your boyfriend), backshots, oral (f!receiving), pet names (sweetheart, love), lowkey exhibitionism, spanking, hinted creampie, brief religious imagery idk i’m putting this here just in case

notes. kaneshiro did not know the demons he unleashed when he decided to tell us sae has an ass fetish...

ass.

sae’s a very straightforward man who knows exactly what he likes and dislikes. and to put it bluntly, he loves your ass. the man has a canon ass fetish and we’re going to respect his tastes to the t.

that isn’t to say he doesn’t have an appreciation for your other assets (i’m sorry) though. he always ensures that every part of you is loved and revered, whether by buying you clothing that emphasizes your beauty in all the right areas or exchanging subtle (and/or not so subtle) touches, ghosting his hand or straight up palming your lovely curves.

but if there’s ever a chance you catch itoshi sae slipping, it’s because of your gorgeous ass.

regardless if he’s able to admit it or not, sae is the reason why you two can’t work out at public gyms anymore. 1.) because he gets recognized way too easily as a world renown professional athlete. and 2.) because he can never stop ogling your ass as you’re working out. and, for an added bonus: 3.) because of what ends up happening after you catch him doing so.

there have been countless times, you’ve found yourself in a squat or pose which focuses on your glutes. while in those positions, your ass looks incredible, and sae is always there to let you know even if he never says so out loud. you’d be hands and knees on your mat, ready to do a few sets of leg kickbacks, and the midfielder will be a couple machines away, sweat clinging to his workout gear as he reaches for the water bottle next to his feet.

when he takes a swig from his hydro, his ocean blue eyes are evidently at an angle. if you draw his line of vision, you’ll discover he’s watching you go through your exercises. it’s almost a ritual for him, to observe and admire the way your butt is accentuated with every stretch, your muscles flexing along your well-developed curves as your seamless shorts cling to you like a second skin. all this is done out of utmost respect, of course. at least that’s what sae likes to think.

you’re not at all oblivious to his wandering eyes, and sometimes you like teasing your audience, angling yourself in a way that allows him a clearer view of your movements. after you finish going through the motions, you stand up from the mat and stretch before turning over to send him a cheeky little wink. to add more oil to the fire, you bring your hand behind you and lift your cheeks, before releasing them to let them bounce before his eyes.

it’s downright hypnotic and sinful, but sae can’t help but indulge in the devil as he swings his towel over his shoulder. then, he immediately drags you in the showers with him to watch your ass bounce some more, pistoning his hips against you and splitting you on his cock under the running waters.

“what did you think was gonna happen when you pulled a stunt like that, sweetheart? such a naughty girl,” he grunts, muttering curses about how well you’re taking him while his eyes are glued on the flesh ricocheting off his thrusts. honestly, he has some nerve reprimanding you when he’s the one who started it with his obvious gawking, but if it means you’ll be blissfully filled with his cum and creaming all over his cock, you don’t have any complaints.

eventually, sae has his own private gym installed in his residence. which is what he honestly should have done in the beginning given all the money he has, but his trips to overseas matches doesn’t grant him many opportunities to use it.

that aside, your prior antics don’t really change, except the two of you are much more shameless since you don’t have to worry about stray eyes or cameras everywhere. usually, you find yourself only a few sets into your routine before sae is bending you over the equipment while pulling your leggings down to your ankles. yet somehow he’s not tearing a hole through them, to your astonishment.

he has some class at least, but that means little when the midfielder prys your asscheeks apart with firm hands, fixated on how your glistening pussy twitches and your flesh overlaps between his fingers. “what do you want, sweetheart?” he asks in a deceptively gentle tone given his grip that makes you feel so exposed.

you crane your head, features flustered and hot. “cock, sae.”

“where?” his stoic expression acts ignorant even when he already knows what you’re about to say.

“inside me!” you cry and you’re met with a quick spank that stings your ass.

“manners,” he reminds you, piercing teal eyes glowing at the mild red imprint he left behind.

your voice is quieter but shaky, “i-inside my pussy, please… i’ll behave...”

“that’s all i wanted to hear, my love.” he rewards you with his lips over the faint mark on your skin, tenderly soothing the pain while worshiping you all the same before he moves away to line himself to your hole. he enters slowly, loving how your tight, yummy walls take him as his length gradually disappears. your nails dig into the leather beneath you, and you rasp a sensual cry as his cock deliciously kisses all the right spots inside you over and over again.

#sae x reader #sae smut #blue lock smut #bllk smut #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x reader #itoshi sae smut #itoshi sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #sae x you #sae x y/n #blue lock imagines #blue lock headcanons

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soulofapatrick · 1 year ago

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Heat of the Moment - Eddie Diaz x Male Reader

Summary: Eddie has been flirting with you since you joined the 188 and finally takes action

Words: 1.5k

Warnings: heavy make out

Notes: I hope this justice to the anon who requested it

Y/N’s POV

I step into the firehouses’ locker room, the faint scent of aged leather and burnt wood lingering in the air. The camaraderie within the 188 has been welcoming, making my transition into the team seamless. Each member has extended a hand of friendship, but there’s one person who has constantly set my heart racing—Eddie Diaz.

The man is charismatic, there’s no denying that. His infectious smile and friendly demeanour have everyone at ease, but it’s more than that for me. Eddie’s playful banter, the subtle compliments that dance of the edge of flirtation, have me blushing like a teenager. And he knows it, damn it. It starts with those smiles—the kind that makes my heart skip a beat. He catches my eye across the room, a glint of mischief evident in the depths of his gaze, and that’s where it all begins.

Sometimes, as he passes by, his touch is barely perceptible but sends shivers down my spine. A casual hand on my shoulder when he shares a joke, or a gentle brush of his fingers as he hands me something. It’s a touch that lingers just long enough to be noticed but short enough to leave me yearning for more.

In the confined space of the locker room, Eddie takes it up a notch. I’m lacing up my boots, focused on the task at hand, when I feel his presence behind me. His hands find their way to my hips, a casual yet intimate touch as he manoeuvres around me to grab his gear. My breath catches, and I try to convince myself it’s just friendly camaraderie, but the way his fingers linger leaves me questioning.

Words, too, become his weapons of choice. He leans in close when he speaks, his warm breath grazing my ear. The simplest of comments carry a weight that makes my cheeks burn. “You know, Y/N, you really make this fire station a much brighter place,” He says with a grin, and I swear I can feel the heat of his words against my skin. As Eddie’s words hang in the air, I can’t help but feel a surge of wrath that has nothing to do with the uniform. I stand up, intending to respond with something clever or at least coherent, but the moment I rise, I’m acutely aware of his proximity.

Suddenly, he’s there, close enough I can feel the heat radiating from his body. It catches me off guard, and for a moment, I’m frozen in place. Eddie’s chest presses against my back, and the contract sends a jolt through me. My heart races, and I can’t ignore the magnetic pull between us.

“Is that so?” I manage to reply, my voice sounding much steadier than I feel. His closeness is intoxicating, and I can’t deny the effect it has on me.

He chuckles, the sound low and tantalising and I sense his breath against the nape of my neck, “Absolutely. You’re really something special.”

I turn around to face him, and the intensity in his gaze makes my pulse quicken. Before I can full comprehend what’s happening, Eddie takes a step closer, and my back meets the cold metal of the lockers. The sudden change in proximity has my breath catching.

“Eddie, what are you—" I begin, but my words are cut off as he crowds me, his body inching closer until there's hardly any space between us. The locker room seems to shrink, the air thickening with an unspoken tension.

His hand finds the wall beside my head, effectively trapping me. Eddie's eyes flicker with a mixture of playfulness and something deeper, more intense. "Y/N," he murmurs, his voice a low timbre that sends shivers down my spine. His proximity is both exhilarating and unnerving. I can feel the warmth of his body, the subtle brush of his breath against my skin. My senses heighten as his hand rests on the wall, caging me in.

His eyes, intense and magnetic, hold mine captive. There’s a playfulness in them, but it’s underscored by an unmistakable depth that speaks of unexplored desires. As he murmurs my name, the timbre of his voice resonates within me, sending shivers down my spine. It’s a magnetic pull, drawing me closer to the edge of something I never anticipated.

With Eddie’s hand finds mine, it’s a jolt of electricity. His fingers interlace with mine, creating an intimate connection that transcends the playful banter of earlier. The touch is firm yet gentle, as if he’s reassuring me that this is a path we’re walking together. His other hand, warm and possessive, rests on my hip. It’s a point of contact that sets my nerves ablaze. Every move feels deliberate, sending a rush of anticipation through my veins. I can’t help but marvel at the way his body aligns with mine, the proximity igniting a fire within.

In that charged moment, as Eddie's scent wraps around me, I can almost taste the anticipation in the air. The mixture of his subtle cologne and the rugged musk of the fire station creates a sensory overload that heightens every nerve in my body. The world outside this locker room ceases to exist, and all that remains is the awareness of him, close, real, and magnetic.

Shaky breaths betray my internal turmoil, but it’s not fear that courses through me; it’s a potent hunger, an ache that’s been building with every exchanged place and lingering touch. I can’t help but wonder if Eddie feels the same, if the unspoken tension between us is, indeed, shared desire.

As the seconds stretch, I tilt my head up instinctively, seeking something unspoken, something I can’t quite name. Eddie’s lips barely brush mine in a teasing promise before he ducks his head down, closing the distance.

The first touch is electric, a spark that ignites a fire deep within. His lips on mine are soft, a gentle exploration that quickly deepens. It’s a kiss that speaks volumes, transcending the uncharted territory we find ourselves in. The world tilts on its axis as the taste of him floods my senses—warm, inviting and undeniably intoxicating.

Emotionally, it’s a whirlwind. There’s surge of longing, of a connection forged in the unspoken language of desire. My hands, initially uncertain, find their way to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my fingertips. The kiss is a dance, and my hands navigate the contours of his body, discovering the warmth and strength I’ve only imagined until now.

The kiss deepens, a seamless blend of passion and connection. It’s a dance of two souls finally acknowledging the unspoken yearning that has lingered between us. Eddie’s hands, too, explore the landscape of my back, leaving trails of fire in their wake. The world outside fades into insignificance as we lose ourselves in the shared intensity of the moment. But, just as the crescendo of emotions reached its peak, a sudden intrusion shatters the fragile bubble we’ve created. The locker room’s glass door swings open, and the hasty footsteps of another member echo in the room. Startled, we break apart, breathless and disorientated.

Buck stands frozen in the doorway, eyes widening in surprise. For a moment, the air crackles with an awkward tension as he stumbles over his words, “Uh, sorry, didn’t mean to… I just forgot my…uh, never mind.” He fumbles with his words, and the realisation of what he’s stumbled upon dawns on him.

Buck's awkward retreat leaves a lingering tension in the room, and Eddie and I exchange a silent acknowledgment of the unusual situation we find ourselves in. The locker room, usually a sanctuary of camaraderie, has transformed into a stage for an unintended revelation, and the unspoken tension between Eddie and me is now exposed, hanging palpably in the air. As Buck stumbles out of the doorway, hastily retreating from the unexpected scene, I meet Eddie's gaze. There's a mix of amusement and shared disbelief in his eyes. We're both caught in this strange, suspended moment where the line between friendship and something more has been irrevocably crossed.

Just as we begin to compose ourselves, Eddie glances behind him, his expression shifting. It's then that I notice the rest of the team, peering down from the upstairs balcony. The realisation hits us simultaneously — the glass walls of the locker rooms have turned our private moment into an unintentional public spectacle.

A chorus of surprised gasps and hushed whispers filters down from above. The team, usually a tight-knit family, now observes with a mix of curiosity and amusement. My cheeks flush with embarrassment, and Eddie, ever the composed one, smirks, perhaps trying to diffuse the tension with humour.

In that moment, our private revelation becomes a shared experience with the whole squad, and the locker room, once a haven of shared secrets, is now a glass-walled confessional. As Eddie and I exchange a resigned yet amused look, it's clear that the dynamics within the 118 have just taken an unexpected turn, and there's no going back.

┈ ✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁ ┈

TAGS: New Tag List Form

9-1-1/Lone Star Masterlist

#eddie diaz #Eddie Diaz x reader #Eddie Diaz x male reader #Eddie Diaz fluff #9-1-1 #9-1-1 x male reader #9-1-1 x reader #9-1-1 fluff #9-1-1 Eddie diaz #Eddie Diaz x y/n #Eddie Diaz x you #Eddie Diaz smut #911 x you #911 x y/n #911 x male reader #911 fluff #911 angst #911 smut #ryan guzman

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ferraris-gf · 6 months ago

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explaining f1: the cars

chassis

modern day f1 cars are constructed from composites of carbon fibre and other ultra-lightweight materials. the minimum weight currently permissible is 740kg including the driver but not the fuel.

engines

as of the 2014 season, all f1 cars have been equipped with turbocharged 1.6 l v6 engines, which were previously banned in 1989. this change gave up to a 29% increase in fuel efficiency.

transmission

f1 cars use highly automated semi-automatic sequential gearboxes, with regulations stating that 8 forward gears and 1 reverse gear must be used, with rear-wheel drive. fully automatic gearboxes are illegal to keep driver skill. the last f1 car fitted with a conventional manual gearbox was the forti fg01 which raced in 1995.

as of 2009, all teams use seamless-shift transmissions, which allow a near instantaneous changing of gears for minimal time loss. shift times for modern f1 cars are in the range of 2-3ms.

steering wheel

the wheel can be used to change gears, adjust the fuel/air mix, change the break balance and call the radio among other things, allowing the driver a huge amount of control. data such as engine rpm, lap times and tyre temperature etc. are displayed.

fuel

the fuel in f1 cars is fairly similar to ordinary petrol.

to make sure teams and fuel suppliers are within regulation, the fia requires fuel teams like shell, petronas etc. to submit samples of the fuels they are providing for races. at any time, fia inspectors can request a sample from the fuelling rig to compare. the teams usually abide by rules but in 1997 mika hakkinen was stripped of his third place finish in spa due to his fuel being the incorrect formula.

tyres

you can read all about tyres in f1 here!

breaks

the brakes used in f1 cars are designed to work in up to 1,000 degrees celsius.

drivers can control brake force to compensate for changes in track condition or fuel load.

notable cars

the victorious red bull racing rb18 from the 2022 season, driven by max verstappen.

the dominant mclaren mp4/4 driven by ayrton senna in 1988.

the highly successful ferrari f2004 driven by micheal schumacher at the 2004 united states grand prix.

the 1994 williams fw15c, widely considered to be one of the most technologically advanced f1 car of all time

the first f1 car to be powered by a turbocharged engine; the 1997 renault rs01.

the lotus 78, which exploited the aerodynamic effects of downforce, or ground effect, which was banned by the fia in 1983 (though it was later brought back for the 2022 season onwards).

the 2009 brawn bgp001, using a 'double diffuser' (to harness downforce) which was banned by the fia in 2011.

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hitlikehammers · 7 months ago

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time for that age old question: is love enough to beat back the apocalypse?

Because Steve's right there to protect everybody like the self-sacrificing asshole he is help Eddie make the music he's not strong enough for yet help them all put Vecna in the ground for good this time, right?(!??!)

or: what's the song for your walkman, baby? does it even matter?

I Could Be Your Nurse (or something)

Or: Five Times Eddie Has To Ask For Help, Plus One Time He Doesn’t Need It Anymore (but asks anyway) ✨ for @penny00dreadful 💜

<<< three: sleep 🌗

🎧 🎹 four: play 🎶 ��️

To tell the whole truth of it: it comes too quickly—Vecna’s last stand. Of course it does.

But probably, if he’s being fair: they’d never have been really ready. Not for this, and so maybe it’s best that they’re not fully healed, not at full strength when it all comes to a head, not least because that means Vecna and his petal-toothed brigade aren’t at full strength either. And that choice, for their side, is sloppy; the Party stands on the right-side-up against the attack because they have to. Vecna makes his move because—or else, Eddie’s fairly sure—because the sadistic ballsac is losing his fucking mind.

Which is terrifying, sure, but fuck if it doesn’t help their cause.

It’s actually over pretty quick, even compared to Spring Break which, while it felt like a lifetime for how much it changed Eddie’s own, it’s only been those handful of days—but it’s kinda like the grand finale at a fireworks show: everything all at once then, done. In the everything’s though: he might not like it, but Eddie’s not so foolish as to believe he’s not still too tender, still too deep in healing the finer points of being gnawed alive to be anything but a burden in the thick of it. He refuses to be sidelined, though, and he thinks it says a lot for the long-term health of this glorious impossible thing he’s…building? Yeah, he, umm, he, Eddie Munson, is building a real goddamn thing where he doesn’t even just let someone into his heart and treasures them there, no, he’s building a thing where he gives his heart and gets on new and soft and trembling in kind and they both get to work at the treasuring of something more precious than just their own vulnerable insides, but yeah, yeah:

Eddie thinks it bodes really fucking well for the hopes he has that lean hard toward forever, already, in Eddie’s chest at least when Steve looks his way as they’re planning the teams and he locks eyes with Eddie and Eddie doesn’t even get his mouth open to breathe, to plead don’t cut me out, don’t send me to Wayne to be ‘safe’ or ‘out of harm’s way’ or whatever, don’t leave me so fucking far from you my heart hurts just because it’s beating in the middle space unmoored and shaking around all bruised up with it for not knowing and I know I can’t do what everyone else can but it’ll be bad enough not being next to you please don’t push me far enough that I won’t know the moment you’re safe, just—

Steve meets his eyes, and Eddie’s breath catches before his heart trips, and then Steve speaks up—and he doesn’t, not all that often when the nerdiest among them are shoring up the battle plans—but he watches Eddie without blinking when he pipes up:

“Eddie’s on medical and audio, with Erica and Jon.”

And maybe it’s his tone—this almost wholly novel thing in Steve that’s steely and unquestionable but no one pushes, they nod and get back to work, totally seamless and, and…yeah. That’s all Eddie wanted. Best he could hope for. Just outside the gate they go through. Close enough to hold a hand on the way down, and reach for purchase on the journey back.

Steve swallows hard, and nods at Eddie before he looks away and starts gearing up, twirls his fucking nailbat so it catches the sunlight even thought the metal’s mostly rusted, now and just…Eddie hadn’t needed to say a word. And Steve wanted to send him to safety, the way his throat had bobbed made it real clear there was something heavy he’s held back but: he’d said what he said. He’d laid the line in Eddie’s favor. Eddie wants to hold him, wants to pull him close and feel him breathe, and—

Yeah. Eddie kinda feels like the way it goes is a really good sign for their future as a couple. A couple. Them. Together.

With an always on the other side of all of this that could be kinda fucking magnificent, maybe. Given the chance.

Point being: Eddie gets himself set up with at least a full ambulance’s supplies for first aid, definitely not acquired legally, and a stereo set up he really wishes someone had been kind enough to outfit him with in not-the-apocalypse, holy shit is it gorgeous, but since the strength in his hands is still a work-in-progress, he’s gotta be ready to crank up the noise as a distraction from arm’s-length. It’s actually driving him fucking crazy—or, was; it was, pre-active return to the regularly scheduled world ending—the whole not being able to make music, to translate the noise in his head into sounds on the strings but even that, even that’s been tolerable, survivable because of Steve—who he loves, he gets to love Steve Harrington holy fuck—but Steve’s not just there to be everything and more than the air Eddie goddamn breathes, to become the music just by existing, nope, he one ups that shit: he asked Eddie if it’d be enough to learn the chords he needs. So Eddie could match the words with the notes right, so Steve could be a—

“—kinda piss-poor substitute but,” Steve had shrugged for it with a crooked grin; “but even a bad translator gets a message across, and you’d know when it’s wrong so we can figure out how to fix it and—“

And Eddie’d grabbed Steve’s chin and yanked his mouth close to fucking consume that man like a soul goddamn starved.

“I’d be a shit teacher,” Eddie had mouthed against Steve’s lips after they were sucked well-swollen; “if I still can’t lift the fucking neck for more than a minute,” but Steve had heard none of it, just shot right back:

“You don’t think we’ve beat steeper odds than that?”

And in the face of that raised brow, those red lips parted, that pulse in that neck still a little bit visible like a tease: the fuck was Eddie supposed to do but dive back in and love on the man who’d somehow agreed to be his, and to claim Eddie of all people in turn?

Which is a whole other reason why everything’s gonna be fine: Steve’s gonna make music with him. Steve’s gonna be Eddie’s muse and the vessel for what he inspires. It’s gonna be like Greek fucking poetry, except it’s gonna be them.

So Eddie’s all stocked up, s’got everyone’s floaty-bone-breaky songs queued up on blast for immediate deployment as necessary, and Steve’s the last to go through—he always is, in Eddie’s experience, waits for everyone to be safely accounted for before he spares a thought for himself and it might kill Eddie one day but not fucking today, because it’s gonna be fine—

“Eddie.”

It feels a little like history repeating itself, the way Steve huddles him in a little. Henderson’s through, with Lucas and Hopper and the weird stray Russian, but it’s not like history repeating, because Eddie’s got different words to see him off with; so fucking different.

“Last time I didn’t have,” and Steve reaches, cups Eddie’s cheek, drags down to press on his chest as his voice strains hard: “and it almost killed me,” and Steve usually pinches between his eyes to keep his feelings in check but instead of using his free hand to hold back the tears he reaches for Eddie’s and laces their fingers as his voice cracks and he chokes out:

“Please,” and it’s for everything. For all the almosts from last time; for all the possibilities rife this time. For all the hopes Eddie thinks they share beyond how this shakes out.

“Exceptionally underqualified field med,” Eddie breathes, and squeezes Steve’s hand so, so hard like a promise, because it is; “exceptionally overqualified DJ,” and Steve chuckles, wet but real and it’s enough, because:

“I got it, Stevie,” Eddie bends his forehead to Steve’s to say better than with words that he’s not in this to be a hero, he’ll be right here the whole time, but that doesn’t mean he…that doesn’t mean he can help but to ask this time:

“Just,” and the breath in him punches out unexpectedly as he damn-near begs:

“Only bring me back the little things, yeah? That I know how to fix?”

And they both hear what’s said underneath it:

Don’t turn around and die down there, and kill me in kind..

And—if anyone’s keeping track—they turn out not to need it but: the way the kiss is a wholeass wartime farewell, man.

And then: Eddie waits, and fucks with the speakers for less than an hour before the earth shakes, and his heart drops, but then he hears it.

The fucking whooping of those shitheads echoing through the cracks.

And then he sees it, runs, grabs the first hand that’s clinging to the rope this time and pulls with strength he doesn’t have, is probably more a hindrance than a help but he steadies them each back on the ground and hugs them so tight, kisses more than one of them on the head or the cheek as he doesn’t pretend not to be sobbing through the laughter because they did it, they fucking did it, somehow it’s over and he loves these people and he’s so fucking happy they’re alive and safe and here and—

And the person he loves more, loves most, brings up the rear, a little bloodied, a little scratched up, dingy with the fucking air down there but smiling and Eddie…

Eddie falls into him so fucking hard they both hit the ground and just, just grab onto one another. Just hold and breathe and catch lips every few seconds like an afterthought because they feel each other’s heartbeat where their chests are pressed tight and it’s, they’re…

Steve’s got four broken fingers across both hands. None in a row. He’s basically giving a Vulcan salute by default for how they’re taped.

Eddie loves him so goddamn much it hurts.

And Eddie’d obviously known—once things start to settle in the days that’ve followed—that teaching Steve guitar with those Spock-y hands was on the back burner, but he does ask Steve to sit, and to rest, and to help hum back the tunes in Eddie’s head while Eddie jots lyrics with a hand that’s still shaky but steadying out more every day, and it’s kind of perfect, and Steve adds some things into the melodies either on purpose or by accident but they’re better for it every time and—

Muse and vessel, man. The light of Eddie’s whole goddamn life.

With fucking Vulcan hands still, though, so: excuse Eddie for being…bewildered when his boyfriend—boyfriend, that’s his boyfriend—but his taped-up-healing-Vulcan-handed boyfriend is propping the front door open and lugging in a long, not-recovery-friendly thing that looks close to dropping on his toes and—

“The fuck are you doing?” Eddie asks with a little more panic in his voice than he’d hoped for as he rushes as best he can to where Steve’s kicking the door shut behind him, fluttering his hands around uselessly as Steve maneuvers past him, leans across for a peck at the corner of Eddie’s mouth and calls—“It’s fine, it weighs, like, nothing”—over his shoulder as he settles the, the thing down on the coffee table in the living room they’ve started actually using for, y’know.

Living.

Eddie follows him in, though, because of course, he’s half-a-dog on that man’s heels, whole-caught-in-the-gravity-of-his-everything: but Eddie follows as Steve tosses himself backward with something in his hand, rolls and rucks up his fucking absurd Hawking Middle tee across the sweet curve of his hips, the way the soft give of skin tempts Eddie to run his tongue over the trail of almost-curls, like baby-curls where they lead under the waist of his jeans: Eddie would happily volunteer to survive on the taste of that musky-delicate space until the end of goddamn time—

But then Steve’s huffing a breathless ha from behind a chair where he’d been stretched to reach and a light catches Eddie’s eye from his periphery where he’d been staring unblinking just at Steve: the big long black thing on the coffee table. It takes a genuine concerted effort not to keep at the Steve-staring—not an uncommon state of Eddie’s existence, in all fairness—and check what’s glowing on the table: something turned on. Was plugged in, right, that’s what had Steve rolling on the floor without Eddie on top of or being deliciously pinned down by him.

The something being the big long black thing that Eddie takes in for the whole of it, now: a keyboard.

“Jon picked it up for me second-hand from the place next to Fox Photo when he drove down for his camera, and Rob vouched that it’s a good brand and like, really good condition,” Steve’s raised up on his knees, now with his hands braces on his thighs as Eddie studies the keys, fingers the ends of a every few of the naturals.

“Rob helped with those, too, so I’d know the right, like, chords,” and yeah: they’re stupa of masking tape stuck to the keys with letters in blue, black, and red pen, alternating so they don’t get mixed up, some with and arrow, Eddie assumes, to indicate a sharp.

“I only remember like half of one song from when my parents thought it would look good to have me take piano lessons,” Steve huffs in whole-ass judgment; “my mom wanted the endorsement of the guy who was stepping down from city council, and his wife taught private lessons, so, y’know,” Steve rolls his eyes; “super convenient leading up to the election.”

“What song?”

Steve blinks, tips his head in askance for what Eddie recognizes very clearly as something closer to a croak than a question, his throat all tight. He tries to cough, to clear it.

“What song do you remember?”

Steve snorts at that, leans back on his palms, and fuck is he beautiful.

“Clair de Lune,” Steve grins crooked; “the one song I was allowed to pick, instead of just being assigned.”

“Why’d you pick it?” Not that Eddie doesn’t like it or anything. It’s more that…he knew Steve could more than just drum fingers on keys, if only just, and that a baby grand used to sit in the corner where there’s a stereo cabinet now, but.

But: see, there’s like a whole half of his heart that’s dedicated to collecting new knowledge about everything Steve: his favorite food when he was 12 versus the now. How his favorite color became his favorite color. The story behind all the polos. The nitty-gritties about why he’s in a big-ass house alone for approximately 360 days a year, and how long it’s been that way. Eddie’s whole heart is basically Steve’s but every day that half overflows a little, and Eddie’s only keeping it relegated to parts filled with Steve-lore so he can feel the collection break containment every other day, this grand and joyous bursting under his ribs as everything spills over again, and again, and again until it’s all just Steve, and his heart has to burst or stretch, or both.

Eddie thinks both will be amazing.

And right now, in the interest of building toward that amazing-both: he wants to know why Debussy.

Steve chuckles to himself—better music than any dead French guy by a country mile—and eyes Eddie almost slyly.

“Do you remember Claire Reynolds?”

Vaguely. Like, very vaguely. He remembers…uneven pigtails. Very actual-cult-like vibes about her family as a vague impression and now that he’s bringing it to mind he feels a new wave of indignation: those Children-of-the-Corn motherfuckers were just fine but Eddie liked a board game and he was probably a murderer.

“When we were in like, first grade,” Steve’s continuing on; “she asked me every, single, day, to come over and see her sheep.” Steve looks up at Eddie and bites his lower lip, lets his gaze dance and lets Eddie fall into it for a few dazed seconds before he spells it out.

“She had these crazy eyes about it, it was kinda unsettling,” Steve nudges, but Eddie’s doesn’t get it until:

“And it’s not like I do now, because obviously I don’t, but I definitely didn’t speak a lick of French when I was eight.”

It takes Eddie a hot second before he snorts hard enough to hurt:

Claire, da Loon.

“I was eight,” Steve protests Eddie’s laughter halfheartedly even as he joins in, reaches to slap at Eddie’s upper arm which honestly: just makes him laugh harder.

“Anyway,” Steve fights through the last of the chuckling as it peters out between them, drags himself to sitting next to the coffee table and taps his hand to the top of the keyboard.

“I know it’s not the same as learning guitar to help, and I can probably only get the top and bottom notes with these,” he lifts his Vulcan-fingers his a shrug; “but I was hoping that’d be better than nothing?”

And, like, how Eddie was talking about his heart having to swell, for all the things he gets to tuck inside of it that come with loving Steve Harrington?

He might crack a rib, just now, because—

“This is for me?”

Steve purses his lips, lifts a brow:

“Well, technically it’s for me,” steve singles his fingers, which looks absurd with the splints; “but yeah. To help you get the songs out. I mean, once these are free again, you can help me with the guitar like we talked about, until you’re—“

And Eddie cannot be blamed, see: he cannot be fucking blamed for tackling Steve to the floor and kissing him hard enough to bruise because…

“You got hurt,” Eddie half-breathes between kisses; “you got hurt and I was so afraid I was gonna lose you,” and Eddie reaches for those taped fingers and kisses them, too: so gentle and Steve’s expression softens so quick:

“I was scared, too,” he whispers between them, cups Eddie’s face with his unloaded hand; “you were as safe as I could make you within the fucking city limits but I was still so goddamn scared.”

Cue more rib-cracking for the heart-swelling, because Jesus fucking Christ.

“And you,” Eddie exhales, slow and shaky; “you’re hurt, but you went and got,” he nods to the keyboard;

“I know it’s not ideal,” Steve’s quick to, to what, apologize? For being insane and perfect and—

“Shut up,” Eddie says, voice low and watery and he’s still kissing at Steve’s fingers, holding his wrist delicate but also like a lifeline.

“You’re hurt,” Eddie maybe kinda moans it because he hates it, as much as he’s so fucking grateful that’s it’s just this, no worse than this; “and you still—”

“I promised, didn’t I?”

And that…that’s one thing Eddie’s learned beyond reproach; that even to his detriment, Steve keeps his goddamn promises.

And he’d promised to help Eddie get his words out, to place the lyrics to the notes and help unclutter his brain so he didn’t lose his mind.

Holy fucking hell.

“Steve,” Eddie starts, shakes his head, needs to find the right words. “You’re alive,” the most important thing. “You are healing,” another most important thing, for Eddie to oversee and make sure of, even as Steve keeps an eye on the last lingering threads of the long haul on Eddie’s road to recovery in kind, his beloved mother hen.

“This is,” and he runs his fingers too light to draw sounds across the keys, hopes he sounds as awed and grateful as he feels; “but you, you’ve gotta test, you have to,” and Eddie shakes his head and lifts his eyes to just fucking ask it:

“Why?”

And Steve: Steve just studies his face for a few seconds, reads what he needs before he smiles kinda exasperated, mostly fond and answers so simply, while also breaking a few more of Eddie’s ribs when he just says:

“Because I love you.”

And Eddie’s heart’s not so overfull yet of all of Steve, it’s not fair that it just bursts right then and there, Eddie propelled into Steve’s arms to kiss him deep this time, like he’s searching out Steve’s soul to taste and maybe he is, save that he needs his heart to not have exploded for feeling if he’s going to keep the memory of it safe in his chest for always, he needs to patch his heart back up first but he’s too distracted, too drowned in the way love actually fucking feels, fucking shifts his cells around and makes a new version of him, lets his heart grow bigger except it went and blasted apart with the unprecedented immensity of loving and—

And then Eddie’s got Steve’s taped up hands on both his cheeks, and he remembers that night, in the shower, where Steve ripped the seams from his shirt so taking it off wouldn’t hurt him; notices how Steve is wearing that same fucking shirt in this very moment, all in one piece, like it never split apart in the first place.

Master seamstress, tried and tested and true; truer than anything.

So Eddie just dives back in and kisses with everything in him, thinks maybe when Steve tastes the pieces of Eddie’s blowout heart under his tongue while Eddie goes diving for the sweet lick of Steve’s soul:

Eddie thinks Steve’s mouth might know how to stitch up torn things, too. Especially the kinds that are ripped at their seams wholly for the sake of loving that fucking hard.

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson

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tomorrowxtogether · 5 months ago

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TXT on Maturing, Packing for the Act: PromiseTour, and Skin Care Essentials

Snapshot! is a Teen Vogue style series where we ask artists to take candid pics and share a glimpse of their style and beauty routines. In this installment, K-pop boy group TXT takes Teen Vogue behind the scenes at the New York stop of their Act: Promise tour.

When the members of Tomorrow X Together (TXT) aren’t attending Fashion Week — whether on the runway or in the front row — they’re jet-setting on tour. However, it's an equally chic occasion — and their latest tour, Act: Promise, is proof of that.

Across the United States tour dates, the concerts’ carefully crafted stages encapsulated the K-pop group’s five-year journey in just a few hours for fans, known as MOA, to experience together. The styling plays a major role in doing so, from their grand entrance with “Deja Vu” to their low-key looks for the youthful anthem “Cat & Dog.”

While the members — Soobin, Yeonjun, Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Hueningkai — make it look seamless on stage, touring isn’t an easy feat. Preparations for concerts may start months before in Seoul with fittings and dress rehearsals but continue until the very last outfit change backstage and even when the members are doing skin care after the show. To learn about it all and soak up the backstage buzz, Teen Vogue caught up with TXT before their sold-out show at Madison Square Garden in New York City on June 1, 2024.

Back in 2019, TXT was first introduced to the world with bright colors, playful patterns, and skinny jeans with their “Crown” music video. Now, the group is known to have a more elevated style with nods to punk and grunge aesthetics. “Because it's been some years since we debuted, I think I would describe it as a journey of growing and being mature, so we definitely see maturing changes in our aesthetics,” Taehyun tells Teen Vogue via an interpreter.

“I wouldn't say it was a radical change, but it was more like a gradual change and gradual being mature and growing. I would say after our second LP, our style definitely got a little more mature than before,” he adds, referring to their album The Chaos Chapter:Freeze, which features the hit single “0X1=Lovesong (I Know I Love You).”

On this tour, the setlist visits each of the group’s chapters, but rather than in chronological order, the arrangement and coordinating outfits explore a motif. “Each show has five sections, and each section has a distinctive theme,” Hueningkai explains. “Our look and our outfits also changed according to the theme.”

For their grand entrance, the group emerges on the stage clad in lace cloaks while wearing white trousers and gray blazers, accentuated by harnesses and chain links, combining their princely charms and pop punk sounds. Within the same section, the members make a quick outfit change to pay homage to their South Korean culture. “We have the song ‘Sugar Rush Ride’ rearranged with Korean traditional instruments, and we also dress in Korean traditional costumes,” Hueningkai says, referring to the hanbok.

The next section, marked by the hit songs “Magic” and “Trust Fund Baby,” showcases the members' more casual side. They are clad in relaxed-fit jeans and designer graphic tee shirts. Whereas they typically wear baby blue varsity jackets with bedazzled wings for this part of the show, for that weekend, the group wore New York Rangers gear, a nod to Madison Square Garden’s home team.

As the group splits up for their unit stages, the youngest members, Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Hueningkai, shed the jackets and rock out to “Quarter Life” in simple ‘fits. Meanwhile, the eldest, Soobin and Yeonjun, change into belted black and white tank tops, respectively, for their performance of “The Killa.” Promptly after the duet and before “Back For More,” they put on sparkly black jackets and rejoin the youngest members who are already wearing the same. Taehyun favors this part of the show for its versatility. “When the light gets dark, we can change the [jacket] really quick, so it gives more variations to the outfit,” he confesses.

As Taehyun notes, the members switch into a more grunge look shortly after. “We wear leather jackets for the third section where we perform ‘Puma.’ Because I think the leather jackets go very well with us all and it just gives off a really hip vibe, I like that one,” Beomgyu says.

The last look of the night comes with the encore, a time the group utilizes to engage and make more memories with MOAs. Their choice of clothing highlights this. Swapping their more extravagant costuming for more casual, fun looks, the group wears hoodies and T-shirts from their merch collection for the tour with classic blue jeans and a simple accessory or two. This look is Hueningkai’s favorite as the comfy, casual nature suits him.

When asked to describe his personal style, “hoodie and jeans” is Hueningkai’s response. His style prioritizes practicality, just like Taehyun, who adds, “I would say I like various styles, but I would say I would choose comfort over fashion.” Fitting for the early June climate in NYC, he explains, “For example, I don't wear long sleeves in hot weather.”

“Like Taehyun said earlier, I like a variety of stuff, but recently, I refer to the street fashion in the UK or Japan,” Yeonjun says. His off-stage looks this tour have consisted of chunky sneakers, layers, and baggy silhouettes for an effortless yet cool look. “I definitely refer to his style. I sometimes try to follow his style,” Hueningkai says in admiration of the eldest.

Soobin and Beomgyu lean towards a more preppy side. Both seem to have their wardrobe essentials figured out. “I like clean-cut style,” Beomgyu says. “Recently, I've been purchasing a lot of wide-leg pants.” Soobin adds, “I also like neat and clean-cut style, so most of my items are button-up shirts.”

Having a practical sense of style does have its benefits on tour. At this point, it seems like the TXT members are pros at the art of packing to be on the road for prolonged periods of time. “It doesn't take that long to pack because we're constantly on a tour,” Beomgyu says. “Sometimes I just leave my luggage packed and just add a little more items to them. For example, a few tops, a few bottoms, a few shoes. But I make sure that I do have my personal makeup tools or makeup items, like cleansers. For those things, I make sure that I do have my own stuff.”

For Hueningkai, it takes a little bit of research. “When I pack for a tour, I definitely make sure that I check the weather because you want your clothes to fit the weather there,” he explains. “For example, if you're traveling to a city where the temperature is high, you make sure you have short sleeves and really light materials.”

Yeonjun’s technique is classic for a fashion lover. “I overpack because I like clothes,” he says. “But I also make sure that there is a little bit of room, considering that you're going to shop when you go to a new city.”

The TXT members are equally sensible when it comes to picking essentials for their carry-on bags. Hueningkai, like many other K-pop idols, notes the importance of comfortable shoes when off the stage and says slippers are his must-have.

Soobin and Taehyun’s travel essentials allow them to have some fun when they can while traveling. Soobin selects a tablet, particularly one loaded with dramas. (On this tour, he chose to watch Queen of Tears.)

Staying active seems to be on the mind for Taehyun. “For me, it's a bathing suit because you stay in hotels when you're on a tour, and sometimes you find really nice swimming pools there,” he says. Similarly, his form of self-care on tour is exercise, so he says he carries a resistance band so he can work out anywhere, even in the hotel.

As for skin care, the group stresses mastering the important basics. “I've recently started to practice this, but I make sure that I wear sunscreen before going out,” Taehyun says. “So that’s my beauty tip.” Also, taking the late spring weather into account, Hueningkai adds.“For me, it's to keep hydrated, so drink a lot of water.”

While the hype and excitement of a concert may culminate before the show, it’s the youngest of the group, Hueningkai, who reminds us that a post-show routine is just as worthwhile for both artists and fans alike. “It's important to really remove your makeup thoroughly,” he says. “So I use cleansing oil — all those makeup remover items. And make sure that you moisturize your skin after that.”

#txt #tomorrow x together #240619 #article #teen vogue #soobin #yeonjun #beomgyu #taehyun #hueningkai

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misscammiedawn · 8 months ago

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Derealization in Night in the Woods and Metal Gear Solid 2

This post contains discussions and descriptions of severe dissociation that may be triggering to those who experience those symptoms and details themes of abuse, war and alcoholism please be kind to yourself when reading. Full game spoilers for NitW and MGS2.

In my Media, Myself and I series of posts I've been talking about depictions of Dissociative Identity Disorder in media. Highlighting good representation because I think it's easy to tear down what doesn't work, but showing what does is a very teachable moment. Best way to increase understanding and tear down stigma is to show understandable and relatable examples. Even if they're imperfect.

To that end, I wish to take a mild distraction from talking about identity focused symptoms of dissociative disorders and do some posts on elements of dissociation which aren't highlighted as often, particularly not well.

Depersonalization/Derealization Disorder is on the dissociative spectrum and the symptoms are experienced within forms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and Dissociative Identity DIsorder.

To borrow an info-graphic I utilized in my Hypnosis and Dissociative Disorders essay a while back

Source: Mayo Clinic

The brain processes the world and our association within that connects the concepts of "Me" and the concept of "Reality" and integrates them so we are able to process external reality and express our internal reality.

When we look at our hand we can look at it and understand "this is my hand", the shape of it, the sensation of proprioception, the knowledge that we are able to move it and it will move based on our innate intention. There is no process of "I want to move my hand, I am going to move my hand, my hand is moving" it all happens as part of one seamless process.

A practice within hypnosis for creating a sense of dissociation required for trance states is to have a person look at their hand and turn the phrasing from "my hand" to "that hand". Gradually having a person look at a thing until our brains stop processing it in relation to our surroundings until it "detaches" as a way of temporarily removing critical filters in an effort to lead a person to an altered and suggestible state.

A good example of this one can experience without assistance is to stare into a mirror for an elongated period of time. Our brains are always attempting to process a large amount of information and presents context to you that changes "those images on the mirror's surface" into "my reflection", it's why we are able to feel familiarity as a sense. When we perceive something that activates those associations the relevant information automatically filters in our mind and presents the concepts associated with the stimulus.

If we stare at the same reflection for too long those associations begin to disintegrate and we begin to view them divorced of the contexts we hold for them.

For those who suffer dissociative disorders, this is the root of why someone with DID will not "recognize" their reflection or why a person may not feel familiarity with something/someone they are aware of.

Dissociative amnesia is a topic I wish to cover in a future essay but it is also included in this process. Essentially when we dissociate our minds lose the ability to effectively filter what we are perceiving and relate it to our selves, our memories and our experiences.

Derealization is what happens when that critical filter between the external world and our internal perception breaks down. It's when we are not processing the world as being something we are engaging with. This may present as a disconnection between our perception and our understanding, for example "my hand feels like it's larger than it looks" or it can be a complete disconnect from what is happening in your present reality causing you to feel like you are in a dream. In extreme cases you lose your ability to relate your actions from consequences.

Let me tell you, having this happen while you're behind the wheel of a moving vehicle is terrifying and I hope no one reading this ever has to experience that.

I should also note that these symptoms tend to get dramatically worse the more you focus on them. In my own life, if I have a sensation that parts of my body feel incompatible with my inner perception of them then the vague dysphoria can blossom into full dissociation if I try to examine the feeling in any depth.

For an everyday version of it, think about the sensation of Deja Vu and how it feels like you have already experienced something which is happening in the present. During that state you are dissociated enough from processing your present reality that it "feels" like you've already experienced it, despite the knowledge that you are currently in the moment.

All of this is to give a vague view of what Derealization is and what it feels like.

Today I want to share two pieces of media that include a character overtly experiencing these symptoms and how the fiction displays the character experiencing this internal experience so that an external audience may understand.

Night in the Woods is a 2017 narrative driven adventure game by Infinite Fall. It follows two weeks in the life of Mae Borowski, a 20 year old cat suffering from severe anxiety who has dropped out of college and returned to her childhood home, an impoverished Western Pennsylvania mining town named Possum Springs.

There she moves back in with her parents and reintegrates with the rural community of Possum Springs. She spends time with her childhood friends, talks to the locals and tries to solve the mystery of a severed arm found in town. All while having vivid dreams on a nightly basis and dealing with the an ambient level of judgment from her parents, friends and community over her perceived irresponsibility.

Where Mae is trying to solve the mystery of the severed arm and the secret cult that hides within Possum Springs, the audience has some other mysteries to solve attached to the attitudes of some of the residents. Mae's parents and friends constantly pressure her to explain why she felt it necessary to drop out of college when so much was sacrificed to get her there. There is also "The Incident", a mysterious event in Mae's past, ominously hinted at when Mae's next door neighbor warns...

"No one's forgotten who you are and what you did, you know. Small town polite's all you got, kid."

The player is left in the dark as to the circumstances that paint Mae's reputation in town and throughout the course of the two weeks we begin understanding more about Mae's past, the circumstances behind her return to Possum Springs and the reasons those around her harbor a mild resentment towards her.

There are some potential supernatural elements relating to Mae's dreams and the nature of the cult but I feel it is best to stick to the grounded elements of the plot for the sake of this essay.

The Incident, it is revealed, is that 6 years before the game Mae beat another kid with a softball bat. Seemingly unprovoked. It earned her the nickname "Killer" and shaped much of the way people in the town, including Mae's own parents, view her.

"Why did you beat Andy Cullen?" and "Why did you drop out of school?" are questions people constantly demand of Mae and it forces her to become defensive and prickly to those around her. There's even a sequence involving a heated argument between Mae and her mother when the latter drops her kindness and patience over the matter and demands answers that Mae refuses to give.

To give the game away without fanfare, Mae suffers from extreme dissociation.

She's ashamed of it, afraid of it and the local town doctor, who I will discuss shortly, has no meaningful way of helping her deal with it. Mae is left to journal about her feelings with no meaningful way of understanding her symptoms or preventing them from crippling her. It is not even referred to as dissociation within the plot of the game, though those who are familiar with derealization will recognize it easily.

If you wish to see the conversation where Mae confesses her condition, it is about 4 minutes long and will provide some context, though I will brush over the description if you do not have time/ability to watch and listen.

youtube

Mae describes a time when she was playing videogames and felt an intense empathy towards the characters on screen. She felt like she knew them intimately and at a certain point something "broke", she came to understand that the characters she had been so connected with were not real. She was not actually connected with the events happening on screen, it was all a game.

And in understanding that she felt alone and abandoned on her side of the screen and the sensation spread out to the view outside of her window. The trees blowing by in the wind were as fake and distant as the characters in the video game. She had memories and attachments and associations with that tree, but looking at it from her window she could see that it was just a tree. Just an object.

"Just shapes"

This disconnect spread into every aspect of Mae's life and all of the associations she had built between herself and the world around her had vanished and she found herself in a world that she no longer felt attached to in any meaningful way.

"Just like this meaningless bulk of... stuff."

She felt alone. Abandoned. Overwhelmed by the simultaneous enormity and emptiness of everything.

The next day during the softball match she cannot even remember how it happened but she ended up ontop of the mass of shapes that was Andy Cullen and... that was The Incident.

Mae's family lost a lot of money paying off the medical debt for Cullen's family and everyone's attitudes towards her turned cold. She was sent to Dr. Hank for therapy... and this is where I take a break to discuss the causes of dissociative disorders and how badly Mae was let down.

The root causes of DPDR are the same as other dissociative disorders in that extreme abuse, neglect and continued stressful situations cause the mind to put up barriers and break associations to protect the self from harm. To boil a complex idea down to a few words consider the mind saying "This is not happening to me." as a way to prevent pain from an experience.

Where identity based dissociation focuses on the words "to me" and removes the self from the harmful events, derealization focuses on the words "this is not happening" and rejects the events outright, refusing to process the context behind what is happening.

Much of the game's story is told through implication and one must peel back layers in order to get a full story. At first glance Mae may seem like a normal young woman from a rural community in the rust-belt and question what could have been enough for her to develop a dissociative disorder.

First off, don't do that. No one owes anyone a justification for their condition and there is no such thing as "traumatic enough" to be valid for a diagnosis. What a person experiences is what they experience. But Mae is fictional and the core of her character is having an under-treated dissociative disorder. Half the reason I wanted to write this entry was because her depiction of it is deeply relatable and can be used well for teaching what goes into a person developing PTSD and dissociative disorders; most depictions seem content with sexual abuse or violent deaths.

For Mae, it's a lot more subtle and all too human. At least, for a cat in a world of anthropomorphic animals.

Mae's mother, Candy, never went to college and always regretted it. She feels like her life hit a dead end and she has remained in the mining town of Possum Springs decades after its mining industry faded out. She works as a receptionist at the local church, spends all day reading True Crime novels and had a number of miscarriages before finally giving birth to Mae, her "miracle baby".

Mae's father, Stan, was working with the mine when it closed down and has since been bouncing between job to job trying to keep his family afloat, especially after the medical expenses from The Incident, the subsequent remortgaging of the house and Candy's dreams of sending Mae to college. Stan tries to be a good father but hates his job, is always working and it is revealed he used to be an alcoholic.

Lastly you have Mae's Grandfather. He is dead before the game starts. Mae loved her granddad very much and his influence can be felt throughout the whole game. He would read to her, pay attention to her and teach her things. One of the game's DLC chapters even involves him reading Mae a bedtime story.

Also grandpa Borowski was a union man and collected the teeth of an employer who tried to abuse the workers. That doesn't really play in to my essay as Mae does not discover this fact until the events of the game but I am not going to go without hyping up a man for taking teeth.

Mae misses him so much that even 6 years after she was asked to keep a journal by Dr. Hank the first page reads "RIP Granddad" and as the game goes on the following can be found inside:

This information is drip fed to us through organic and relatable moments. For instance, Mae reveals her father's alcoholism while she is drinking too much (sidenote, she is underage for the location she lives) at a party.

The idea is to give a full and rich view of Mae's life and show that she may not even recognize the trauma for what it is and was.

For instance, we know from the start that Mae has crippling anxiety. This could easily be linked to the expectations of Candy putting her hopes and dreams of college on her "miracle baby". Before Mae was even born she had expectations placed upon her for being the long wanted child of a mother who wanted her baby to do all the things that she never could.

For neglect you have the fact that both parents are forced to work in abundance to maintain their lifestyle and pay for Mae's college in an economically depressed community. Mae spent a lot of her home life alone, feeling pressured by her mother and literally scared of her alcoholic father.

Both parents are good and loving and kind parents. But they failed in some regards. Sometimes you can want the best for someone you love and do everything you can to provide the best life and a failure to listen, adapt and accommodate can do more harm than anything.

Her grandfather eventually passed away, taking her positive links away in her home life and after The Incident she was ostracized from the community and forced into further isolation. Socially anxious, outcast and without her supportive grandfather, she eventually is given an opportunity to go to college. Something her childhood friend would have literally killed for an opportunity to do in her stead.

---and she drops out.

---and upon returning no one will get off of her case about it.

This damned statue did it.

A statue so loathesome to Mae that it appears in her nightmares and she relives the fantasy of smashing it to bits with a baseball bat.

If you watched the above video (or have played the game) you will know that the statue was made up of several shapes and was installed at Mae's college.

The sight of this statue terrified Mae to the point of which she would spend entire days holed up in her dorm room either not eating or gorging pizza and sleeping for days at a time.

Being away from the familiar sights and people of her home town made her dissociative symptoms go into overdrive. At home she knew that The Tree that had lost all meaning and association to her was still the tree that she played with when she was young. She knew that her parents are the people who raised her. Even when she saw them as "dead shapes" the memories persisted and she could endure.

At college it was nothing but strangers in a strange land and a statue comprised of shapes reminding her that everything was shapes.

But they sent her to therapy, did they not? Why wasn't she being treated?

Dr. Hank is a small-town doctor he is the physiologist, he is the dentist, he is the psychologist. He is the doctor. The only doctor and he has no idea how to treat someone with severe symptoms like Mae.

In town Mae can talk to a character named Selmers every day. Selmers is a self-styled poet with depression and also being seen by Dr. Hank. In discussing both mental healthcare treatment and depression with Selmers the player can learn that Dr. Hank treats all forms of mental illness the same. Essentially "journal until you feel better". The town lacks the structure and framework to provide help to someone like Mae.

In other words she has been untreated this entire time and removed from her support network and sent off to college, she could not handle things. Of course she was going to fail under those circumstances.

The game does a remarkably good job of displaying how DPDR can impact a person, especially as it is linked to anxiety and depression, and creates an empathetic narrative about what it must be like to live with that condition.

Sadly it offers little in the way of answers for treatment. In reality treatment involves psychotherapy and creating a structure of coping mechanisms for how to handle episodes and ground oneself. This can come in the shape of breathing exercises, kinesthetic sensation fixation, identification exercises ("name all of the blue items you can see" "name all of the items that begin in A") but above all else, getting a grip on what emotional triggers one has and learning to resolve them will help.

For Mae, being away from home is a trigger for her. Home isn't going to be the same place and people forever. She needs to be able to get on top of her symptoms in order to cope. Dr. Hank was not helping her with that.

The game ends on a bittersweet note that Mae may end up spending her whole life in Possum Springs purely from fear of leaving her zone of familiarity.

Unfortunately the narrative is about clinging to a dying town and how unsustainable it is.

We do not know what will happen next. The structure that failed Mae has only gotten worse in the 2 years since she left for college. Her parents may end up selling the house because they cannot keep up on the payments and on a long enough timeline Gregg and Angus will move away (should their relationship survive the effort to escape) leaving Bea and Mae to watch Possum Springs continue to decay.

Part of Mae's journey is accepting this inevitability and not fighting it, but choosing not to abandon the town regardless. After all, she can't stray from it without a risk to her mental health.

The game offers no answers. It simply shows a slice of hard reality for those who live caught in the trap of decaying towns, economic collapse and mental illness without support structures and treatment. but it does a very good job of providing an empathetic case that an audience can relate to and sympathize with the symptoms of.

But what about a game that tries to make the audience feel the same way that the character does...?

Metal Gear Solid 2 is a 2001 self-proclaimed tactical espionage action game developed by Konami.

It tells the story of a secret military operations agent code named Raiden who is attempting to save the US President from a terrorist group called Dead Cell. There is much more to it. But I am attempting to be brief.

Metal Gear is absolutely frustrating for me to write about in this essay series because their research tends to be fairly good but their sensitivity often comes off as actively malicious at best.

In terms of conditions, symptoms and sensitivity to emotional triggers, Raiden is on paper a fairly decent representation of dissociative disorders developing in those who grew up in war. In practice he has a murder alter named Jack The Ripper who breakdances with 3 katanas.

I promised I would stick to positive depictions only and so I will stick only to the final 2 hours of Raiden's first appearance.

At this point in the game the president is dead, we have learned that the terrorists were really after a giant battleship that houses a powerful AI which is going to be used to censor the internet to control the flow of information and control the populace. Raiden has met up with protagonist of the first Metal Gear games, Solid Snake, and has managed to install a virus into the AI system that will corrupt the data and prevent it from controlling the internet.

In order to get on the battleship, Snake betrays Raiden and hands him over to the terrorists.

Thus begins the final act of MGS2.

It is imperative to understand that these events happen in rapid succession right after the AI is infected with a virus.

Neither the audience nor Raiden are given an opportunity to truly process all of the rapid fire information that we are hit with.

MGS2 has a metatextual narrative about the nature of sequels and audience expectations. Many of the events happening within the story are intimately playing upon our familiarity with the series, recreating circumstances from both Metal Gear 2 and Metal Gear Solid. Part of the critique is that players are looking to simply recreate the experience of the first game and the narrative goes out of its way to punish Raiden (and thusly the player) for trying to "be" Solid Snake. Much of the game has been mired in failure and any wins we have received are either negated in a cutscene following our gameplay victory or are displayed as being ineffective next to Solid Snake who is forever being displayed as the better protagonist.

So when Raiden wakes up in a torture chamber directly designed to look just like the Shadow Moses Island torture chamber from Metal Gear Solid 1 (and both dialogue and graphics of that cutscene are displayed briefly) we, the player instantly assume familiarity with the concept. To drive that point home the player is forced to survive a button tapping mini-game which is sprung upon us out of nowhere (there is no tutorial. The game expects your familiarity with the concept and thusly does not need to explain it - as a side note it is impossible to die in this minigame, so a lack of familiarity does not impact gameplay, only narrative experience)

All while the only surviving villain from the first game directly says in dialogue "We're also inside the memory of Shadow Moses"

The cutscene also has Raiden face to face with the main villain who recognizes Raiden as a child soldier he helped raise to fight in an African conflict. For the first time we are able to view Raiden, view Jack as his own man outside of his similarities to Solid Snake. We find out he is a child soldier with an impressive kill record who was raised with other child soldiers, drugged and forced to kill in a conflict that he had no personal connections to. He claims "I was given a gun and told to shoot, if I refused then I was the one who would be shot."

Throughout the game, Raiden has been getting phone calls from his girlfriend, Rose, who serves as the mission analyst. When the villain, Solidus, reveals Jack's history she calls him to ask more about this and Jack at first pushes away the memories, claiming that "they" wiped his memories and that he experiences nightmares only to give a vivid and emotionally description of his experiences as young as 6 years old killing for no reason other than he was told to.

Rose attempts to comfort him, to say that she wants to share the burden of his past, Raiden refuses, blocking everything out and pushing Rose away, claiming that he cannot afford to start a family.

Children are a huge emotional trigger for Raiden. This is displayed heavily in the future games of the series.

Overall this is an extreme example of a backstory that would give an adult severe PTSD and forced to confront his past, Raiden is emotionally primed to have a complete dissociative break from reality.

But presently I am not writing about how Raiden experiences derealization. I'm writing about how the player experiences it.

We know that Raiden has been trained in virtual reality to prepare him for this mission. When we see cutscenes describing this we are shown footage of the previous Metal Gear games, particularly the virtual reality training missions from the PS1 game.

The implication is very much that Raiden has played the same games that we ourselves have. The Metal Gear Franchise has an interesting meta-narrative going on that displays games are released in order of declassification with an early conversation in MGS4 mentioning that the events of MGS3 (which takes place in 1964) were declassified recently in the game's present of 2014.

Raiden has played the Metal Gear games. We have played the Metal Gear games.

And the game itself is overtly recycling moments from earlier entries of the series and trying to highlight this fact.

Right after we put a virus into the AI.

Things got really weird from the moment we insert the disc to infect the system.

Escaping from the torture chamber our character is completely naked and runs to the next area. We are given a loading screen.

Ominous music plays and we receive a phone call from Campbell, the mission control from both this game and the previous Metal Gear games. He speaks with a distorted voice. He stutters, telling you that you must proceed with your m-mission. He notes that in your current condition you will not be able to attack or "enter the hanging mode"

He continuously spouts the mission objective and says your role is to take out the terrorists. Raiden demands to know why he keeps saying "role" and Campbell replies

Raiden then notes that he has never met Campbell in person. He has only spoken to him over long distance communication.

Should you return to the torture room the title card will be switched with the name of Japanese rail stations. If you pause the game you are treated to a "map" of Arsenal Gear:

The image is from Glauben, Wissen und Kunst der alten Hindus

All while Campbell calls you every few steps to order you to turn the game console off, recycle further lines from previous Metal Gear games (as well as show footage from them) and your radar is replaced with voyeuristic footage of a young woman sunbathing.

The enemies are now wearing thick armor with no humanizing characteristics and they fly about with inhuman power while wielding katana that can block machine-gun fire.

The floor has scrolling text floating across the surfaces something that the series uses for the VR stages to signify you are in a training stage.

The game is pulling out all of the stops to make sure you are confronted with the reality that you are playing a video game while the character within the video game is experiencing the same information.

He meets up with Snake who reveals he has the unlimited ammo bandana from completing MGS1, all but confirming this is a video game. Much of the information in this segment can be justified in-game. I literally cannot sidestep the fact that a flesh and blood man pointed at a piece of headgear and said "Unlimited ammo". I almost wanted to skip over it as it's devastating to my point about how the game tries to pull you and Raiden out of reality.

See to Raiden, he can no longer be certain if any of this is happening or not because of his experiences with VR. With everything collapsing around him, it feels reasonable to assume that the AI Virus is breaking down the universe around him. With full knowledge of the plot, we the audience can know that everything is happening and the virus has infected his augmented reality elements that make up the in-game HUD. But Raiden doesn't know that and the player on first playthrough cannot fully know it either.

It's almost reasonable to assume that the entire game is taking place within a VR Simulation.

Virtual Reality has long been studied as having links to DPDR with a number of scientific studies examining the link.

The connection is very much there though typically VR only influences a mild sensation of derealization when playing, though to those prone to dissociation they may experience more rapid and powerful effects with prolonged exposure.

Raiden tells Snake what is happening and how his grip on reality is falling apart, going as far to doubt whether his girlfriend, Rose, was ever real either. Snake has no idea how to verify for Raiden that the things that are happening are real and tells him to just keep moving forward and figure it out. He also provides Raiden with a sword.

In the metatext, this is a symbol for Raiden gaining his own unique playstyle. As long as he is emulating Solid Snake he cannot succeed but when he accepts himself as his own person and embraces his unique gameplay mechanic he is able to break free from the narrative and actualize as his own person.

In the sense of the derealization episode, it gives Raiden an opportunity to mow down the wave after wave of "Tengu Soldiers" who come after him and Snake.

Metal Gear is a franchise that doesn't like it when you kill people. Here it has handed you a sword and told you to go to town with an unlimited supply of anime ninjas. The game lightly insisting "it's a video game, it makes no difference how many people you kill" and to flaw the game's philosophy for a moment, the only penalty is a ranking when you beat the game. MGS3 is the one that actually hits you with consequences for in-game murder.

As Raiden stands on a platform with Snake the game continues to devolve and a custom Mission Failed screen appears, mimicking the standard game over.

Gameplay continues inside the small box that typically displays where you died, you can die on this screen.

You then fight 25 copies of the giant mech in a recreation of the photo area from the Metal Gear VR Missions and the world's most convoluted plot reaches its crescendo point with every character betraying everyone else before Raiden has to kill a cybernetic US politician with a sword for the first but not last time.

The sequence takes about forty-five minutes to an hour thirty depending on your play style. The plot is too much and has a layer of metatext on top of it regarding the nature of audience expectations and sequels along with a haunting premonition of what the internet would become.

There are a lot of reasons to praise and a lot of reasons to hate the ending of MGS2. Personally I adore it. But one thing that truly cannot be stated enough, especially back in 2001, is how the game intended to make the player feel during that final section.

It's not enough that Raiden was having a complete dissociative episode, losing grip on his reality, it's that the game was designed to make the player go through those emotions at the same time as the character.

I was going through a really rough patch at the time. It was a few months before I was kicked out, my ties with my mother had been cut off, my dad was in a ward and suffice to say where my head was at the time? The immersive dissociative experience this game offered worked like a charm. Though external factors had a lot of influence.

DPDR is weird in the sense that everyone dissociates. It's a natural and normal thing, but disorders that are born from an excessive amount of disconnect between the self and reality tend not to be relatable experiences. Displaying a character losing their grip on reality is not an easy thing to do.

When we see someone say "I don't know what's real any more" in a piece of media we have empathy for their situation but it's not easy to have the audience in the same mindset as them.

Another hauntingly good example is Perfect Blue which I will likely not discuss in detail in this essay series because the content is a little too dark and the depiction of Dissociative Identity Disorder is not flattering in the slightest.

But the movie does depict an actress whose reality is blurring in with fiction by having a series of interactions happen one after another and revealing that the entire scene was part of a television shoot, with every subsequent scene piling on the confusion between what is happening on camera and off camera.

I can think of other examples of characters experiencing derealization episodes. Some even have fairly good depictions of how someone can be driven to that point, such as the slowburn of Bojack Horseman Season 5 where a number of circumstances pile on until the title character has an episode. The problem is... every single depiction that is coming to mind right now ends in either stigmatizing depictions or violent outcomes.

Heck, even Mae and Raiden up there had violence attached to their dissociation.

If there's one thing I want to make clear as I go through these essays, it's that those who have mental illnesses featuring dissociation are usually trauma survivors and are far more likely to be the victim of violence than the perpetrators of it.

I'm happy with the two examples of derealization I've written about today, NitW for the realistic depiction of the origins and impact and MGS2 for taking the player along for the ride; but I'd still love to see an example where a break from reality did not end with blood.

Please send me an Ask if you can recommend any.

So... that about brings it to a close for my little ramble on DPDR. I've a few other entries in the essay series on the back-burner. Next will likely be a breakdown on how Umineko handles recontextualizing memories. I've gotten a few paragraphs of that drafted out already.

These essays are really a bit of self-indulgence for me, though so they happen when they happen.

Thank you for reading.

#dawn posting #night in the woods #nitw #metal gear #mgs #mae borowski #raiden #media myself and I #what a thrill #DID #watch me post my trauma in public #derealization #DPDR #unreality #media essays #Youtube

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visterical · 4 months ago

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elden ring shadow of the erdtree spoilers and rambling/doodles below. got seamless co op running on steam deck and I wanted to doodle my experiences I;m having soooo much fun (if you need help with steam deck seamless co op dm or send an ask I guess?)

not pictured: screaming about grave birds and invaders. so sorry to sneeferVEVO and cat who fishes because the first one I threw rocks at until they slipped off the edge and died (they had all endgame gear. if they didn't slip we were going to corner them and spam a frost stomp) and the second one I threw rocks at until they died (stone of gurranq is my defense mechanism) sneefervevo invaded us AGAIN and eventually left? there was also someone named gilbert I don't know if my brother killed them or not but invaders in seamless co op is the funniest thing ever it's optional but if you turn it off it also turns off npc invasions. also there is NO PROMPT when you get invaded but you can also like run around and take materials we went into the dlc by removing all of our gear!! we took everything off except my seal and one weapon/incantation/spell in our slot as a backup (I didn't use my sword, only stone) and it WORKED. the first guy we killed dropped an armor set and it was heavy enough for me to only be able to wear one piece (chest piece) and have a sword so I was running around only shirt no pants but we did grab some beast claws which we immediately upgraded to +25 and changed scaling and they're AWESOME. I love this game soooo much and I am so obsessed with hornsent already. so in character of me to get attached to the very first man I meet in this game (it happened with varré too) and every little bit I see about messmer makes me INSANE. I love this man also we ran into the ghostflame dragon it was so scary we can't kill it just yet. it looks like a pile of driftwood but I noticed it was a dragon and we went to grab the item by it. it didn't wake up. I walk closer. it immediately starts chasing us and giving us frostbite but also sooooo obsessed with the npcs

#visceral.png #art #digital art #oc #oc art #fan art #elden ring #elden ring oc #shadow of the erdtree #elden ring shadow of the erdtree #elden ring sote #sote spoilers

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aamputation · 17 days ago

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An old BNHA character I never shared with the world. I have bits and pieces of a what-if variation of BNHA wherein Izuku gains a Quirkless mentor via a school mentorship program when he's still attending Aldera.

~2022

GEAR INFO

Kinetic Absorbtion and Reutilization System (KAARS). Automatically absorbs kinetic energy with every impact recieved, whether it be from falls, enemy hits, etc. Energy can either be stored or released along suit pathways to enhance physical capabilities of the wearer, ie. increasing speed, strength, or lessening strain from taken damage. When system is maxed out, KAARS automatically glows. Brightness can be calibrated using the BC3s’ HUD AI system.

Bodysuit: Kevlar poly nano-weave with DNA-nullifying nanotech. Engineered to be slice and stab proof, bulletproof, heat and cold resistant, water-proof, corrosion resistant by way of slow auto-repairing properties.

External armor plating: versatile, ultra strong metal alloy (lightweight, flexible like rubber, strength and resilience of tungsten) micro weave Kevlar-hemp-linen poly blend.

Gloves: same material as the suit encoded biometrics (can’t be removed by anyone but wearer)

Boots: same metal alloy as the suit reinforcement combined with the same material as the Armor plating for maximum efficiency.

Mask: the same base material as external armor and is both physical protection and a filtration system, even functioning as a short term underwater rebreather. It works in conjunction with the BC3s, syncing to allow seamless communication if the wearer is working in a team. It also has mute functions, allowing no sound to escape so only team members synced to the communication loop can hear the wearer, and defaults to a voice distorter. This works by modulating the produced sound waves slightly, producing a warped distorted sound. The distortion effect will continue to work even if the mask is damanged, although there will be an increase in electric crackles along with the distortion. It is biometrically encoded and cannot be removed by anyone who hasn't been added to the base code.

Identity Concealing Technology

A bone conduction communication and audio system work in conjunction with facial recognition and identity concealing technology. (BC3s) They trick the eye and cameras by changing the way light refracts across the top half of the wearers face while not obscuring their field of vision. When active, it provides a heads up display (HUD) that only the user can see. The interface includes heat vision, night vision, and infrared modes. It also serves as a way to keep track of the connected suit's status, including the amount of stored kinetic energy.

BACKGROUND

FAMILY

Grew up blue collar. Childhood home was an older two story duplex, rented.

Single father (Peter Jones), alive and happily retired in a community, waiting for his wife to be released from prison.

Genuinely good person, loves his kids and his wife.

His Quirk is a physical mutation: literal shark teeth.

Mom (Sara Jones neé Davies) was arrested for villainous activity (as Gaslight, the Charismatic Villain) when Blake was 8. She remains in prison to current day.

Her Quirk is an Emitter type of Reality & Perception Manipulation. Basically, any word or phrase spoken can be used to manipulate another person's reality, memory, or perception. A literal manifestation of the manipulation technique known as "gaslighting."

Mom loves her family more than anything, which is why she turned to crime to help support them.

She taught all her kids illegal things before she was arrested and her grey morals influenced Blake strongly later in life.

3 Siblings!

Gabriel Jones, older brother. Works as a Wall Street trader. Alive and well, they get along okay but have massively different political opinions.

Quirk is an Emitter type: minor reality alteration, "probability modification".

Charlotte Jones, older sister. Private school teacher. Alive and healthy, they get along very well, especially so when Blake chooses to join the Aldera mentorship program.

Quirk is a mutation: sharp teeth like dad, but not multiple rows or frequent tooth loss/growth. Will rapidly regrow lost teeth, though.

Charlie Jones, younger twin brother. Academic. Alive, doing okay. On disability due to injury that left him paraplegic. He has similar intellect but his skews less towards hard science and more towards philosophy and psychology. Currently finishing his Psy.D he had put on hold due to his injury and subsequent recovery.

Quirk is an Emitter type with minor mutations: Reality manipulation, "speak into existence", manifesting. Also has sharper than average teeth like older sister, but it is secondary.

OTHER FAMILY

Grew up with a present extended family; maternal uncle was close to Blake. Former vigilante, retired.

Quirk is minor thought manipulation, Inception-like.

EARLY LIFE

Blake had a few close friends and a fairly normal childhood. Their Quirkless status inhibited their number of friends to some extent. Despite being diagnosed Quirkless, they also have fairly sharp teeth like their dad, sister, and twin. It's minor enough that it can only be called a genetic trait rather than a mutation quirk.

Their high intellect was noticed from a young age, as well as their twin's, and only increased as time went on.

Participated in gymnastics during elementary school years.

Bullied in middle school, lost most of their friends. Stopped caring about other's perceptions, outwardly cultivated their now-signature fox-like grin and cheery expression as default.

Got into engineering and computers.

Slowly stopped doing gymnastics and switched to running and martial arts.

Forcibly maintained a cheery disposition, despite cultivating some seriously grey morals and a big sadistic streak. Questioned if they were sociopathic. Twin brother yelled at them for it. Never questioned it again.

Public school career, joined track and field team. Distance runner, pole vaulter.

Senior year, got into tons of colleges, all with full ride scholarships. Some athletic scholarships as well.

Began vigilante work in late High School. They were bored and not challenged enough intellectually, so they turned to vigilantism to pass the time, to play around with their own perception of justice. They discovered they were quite good at it.

LATER LIFE

In college, they began building support gear and doing subsequent research into computer science with a focus on hacking.

Transitioned from distance running and pole vaulting to parkour. Restarted martial arts.

Finished undergrad summa cum laude and immediately started grad school.

Continued vigilantism, started getting recognized by the local heroes. Decided to turn their natural lucky streak into the basis of a career but understood that improving their skills was and is essential.

Mastered four different martial arts and multiple melee weapons.

Mastered hacking.

Started learning marksmanship.

Improved current support gear, focused on kinetics and AI tech.

Completed Masters, moved to doctorate.

At this point, their career as a vigilante is fairly well known amongst the local underground heroes as someone who isn't afraid to eschew morals when necessary.

Continued improving their support gear.

Became part of a small underground hero group (The Advantage Hero: Oracle [although she was often pulled away to more critical cases due to her quirk, they never actually met in person], The Enduring Hero: Adamant, a former limelight hero, The Electrifying Hero: Voltaic, who is mostly limelight, and Contractor, an underground support hero) and began getting asked to join larger scale operations by the USHC [United States Hero Commission].

Finished Doctorate, primed by the USHC to go legal but also received an offer from I-Island to pursue a second doctorate as well as a massive research grant.

Torn for several months between both options, ultimately chose to get the second doctorate.

Vigilantism is put on hold, but their physical conditioning continues. Always intended to pick it back up after completing their time on I-Island.

Finishes doctorate on I-Island, receives extremely generous job offer from HAI Japan branch. Accepts.

Moves to Japan, manages to learn the language.

After a year, is promoted to lead engineer and secondary innovator of HAI's R&D department.

Continues working for HAI for 3 years, continues improving their own fitness, capabilities, and support gear despite not being active in Japan.

Decides to join the Mentorship program, ultimately meets Midoriya Izuku.

When I had originally morphed this character into a BNHA universe one, it was with the intent of using them in a piece of fanfiction that will probably never see the light of day, hence their story ends where Izuku's begins.

#my art #bnha #bnha original character #mha original character #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #character sheet #vigilante character #quirkless character #character backstory

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demifiendrsa · 25 days ago

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youtube

FBC: Firebreak – Announcement Trailer

FBC: Firebreak (Previously known under the codename “Project Condor”), a cooperative first-person shooter set in Federal Bureau of Control from the Control series, will launch for PlayStation 5, Xbox Series X|S, and PC via Steam and Epic Games Store in 2025.

Title logo

Key visual

Screenshots

About

FBC: Firebreak is a cooperative first-person shooter set within a mysterious federal agency under assault by otherworldly forces. As a years-long siege on the agency’s headquarters reaches its boiling point, only Firebreak—the Bureau’s most versatile unit—has the gear and the guts to plunge into the building’s strangest crises, restore order, and blast their way back from the brink.

Key Features

Paranatural Pandemonium – Dive into the Federal Bureau of Control’s (FBC) unpredictable and extradimensional headquarters during its darkest—and strangest—hours. As one of the FBC’s fearless first responders, you and your team are on call to confront everything from reality-warping anomalies to otherworldly monsters… no matter the odds. Will you contain the chaos or finally lose control?

Cooperative Chaos – Join forces with friends or strangers to tackle each mission as a well-oiled crew. Survival in this three-player cooperative FPS hinges on quick thinking and seamless teamwork as you scramble to tame raging paranatural crises across a variety of unexpected locations. Improve your odds by utilizing the tools and skills that make you unique or improvising with whatever’s on hand to support your crew.

Beyond Bullets – Before deploying, select your weapon and customize your Firebreaker’s Crisis Kit with specialized tools, grenades, support items, and paranatural augments… then modify them to suit your strategy and change the way you play. Experiment with different loadouts to perfect your playstyle and synergize with your team, giving you the edge to succeed in every mission, no matter the difficulty.

The Federal Bureau of Control – Return to the strange and unexpected world of Control or venture in for the first time in this standalone, multiplayer experience. Discover the iconic and unfathomable headquarters of the FBC—the Oldest House—from an entirely new perspective as a team of volunteer first responders with nothing but gear and guts to bring the Bureau back from the brink.

#FBC Firebreak #Control #Control game #Remedy Entertainment #video game #PS5 #Xbox Series #Xbox Series X #Xbox Series S #PC #Steam #Epic Games Store

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toriafiction · 1 year ago

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Another WIP (I have too many 😭)

After a universe is obliterated, collapsing in on itself like when a star devolves into a black hole, the two neighboring universes shift and collide. However, instead of completely destroying one or both of them, the two are merging. This means that instead of having two Batmen in this newly developing universe, the two men merge. This new Batman now has new memories for his entire life that is a nice seamless balance of the two different men he used to be, and he is none the wiser that this even happened.

This is how it is for everyone.

That's not great, but it doesn't sound too bad, right?

Except anyone who doesn't have a double is just disappearing altogether. People like Stephanie, who in the other universe died in her first couple of days as Spoiler before she ever even met the Bats. Or Dick, who died that awful night with his parents in Haly's circus.

Dick and Steph blink out of existence, and nobody knows because their new memories smooth it out like they never existed beyond the point of their deaths.

For everyone except Jason. Why does Jason remember when nobody else does? Unbeknownst to them, it's because of how he came back to life.

When Superboy-Prime alters reality from the paradise dimension in which he is trapped—his punches against the barrier keeping him from the rest of the universe causes temporal ripples that create an overlap of parallel timelines (Hypertime). This is what brings Jason back to life (as in the paradise dimension, he survives the Joker's assault).

Jason is already overlapped by another universe, and as such, when these two try to merge it affects him differently.

He wakes up in the parsonage of a church he is now apparently the priest of with two complete and separate sets of memories. In one set, he is simply Father Todd. In the other set, he remembers everything.

He remembers the moment the two universes started to merge. He and Dick had just been going to bed after a light and playful night of patrol. The downright joyful mood had easily flowed into the bedroom as they settled in. It had been a warm and loving moment full of adoration.

Then, everything changed in a fraction of a second. Dick had seized up, his eyes going wide and alarmed. He desperately clutched at Jason, gasping his name. Then, he just seemed to fade away slowly. Jason tried to hold on to him, but his body had lost all corporeality. It was like Dick had become a ghost right before his eyes, and Jason had never felt so helpless.

Jason tries going to Batman and the rest of the family, but everything is all wrong, and they don't know him. Batman is Batman, but Tim is going by a name he never has before. Damian is nowhere to be seen at first, but a little research shows that he spent a couple of months with Bruce before returning to his mother. Babs is Oracle and has turned Batgirl over to Cas.

Jason has no idea what the hell has happened or how to fix this when no one will give him the time of day. None of his contacts know who he is, so they won't deal with him.

Jason decides to play it the only way he really knows how. Brutally hard. If they don't want to listen, he will make them.

Jason breaks into the cave and fills an inflatable bag with gear, including an unadorned base layer of armor for Batman. He and Bruce are close enough in size he can make it work. He throws the bag into the cave's waterway. Jason knows where it will come out, and he will get it later. Still, this is too important to fuck up, so he slipped a tracker in the bag as well.

Then, he stays to confront Bruce again. He had played it safe the first time. Jason had met Batman on neutral ground on a Gotham rooftop and hadn't mentioned knowing who they were. This time, he isn't holding back.

It's ugly. It almost immediately turns into a fight. Jason does try to get through to Bruce. He tries so fucking hard! He needs Bruce on his side, but Bruce isn't listening.

Why won't Bruce ever just listen to him?!

He doesn't pull any punches, and as things continue to devolve, he strikes hurt.

"It wasn't your fault when you lost your family the first time. You were a helpless child then. This time, it will be. Fucking fight for your kids, Bruce!"

Bruce is freaked out that anyone managed to not only figure out their identities but also to break into his most fortified sanctuary. There will be time for questions and answers as soon as he has the threat secured in a cell and some form of control again.

Jason is more than holding his own against Bruce until both Tim and Cas enter the fight.

Jason doesn't know why he does it. Nothing he has said has triggered anything with any of them so far. But when Tim darts forward, going low while Bruce goes high (he has no idea where Cas is, and that's terrifying), he just shouts it out.

"Robin!"

But it's not Tim who jerks and freezes in place. Jason knows that Tim had built a considerable part of his life on and around Robin. Tim has integrated Robin into the foundation of himself on many different levels.

Hell, how could Robin mean more to anyone other than the boys who had made and worn, fought and bled, and, in Jason's case, even died in those colors?

But Bruce slams into a complete standstill, and his expression is so tortured as if that single word has entirely shattered him.

Who cares about Robin more than the boys themselves?

Bruce's episode is enough of a distraction for Jason to make his getaway, and it confirms that somewhere buried incredibly deep, the memories still exist.

They all love Dick, but the truth is he's been more crucial in some of their lives than he has been in others.

Could Jason get to Damian? Would having Damian on his side actually be any help? Would it be more productive to stay in Gotham and keep pushing at Bruce now that he has gotten a reaction from the man, or would it be better to give him some time and space and let him come to terms with whatever he has just experienced?

There is no logical reason for it, but Jason feels a near-desperate sense of urgency. It's like there is a lurid red timer ticking down until his world explodes again. Some part of him wants to freeze under the pressure, indecision weighing down on him, but that has never been Jason's style.

It's knowing what Dick would want that actually makes up his mind. Jason has been doing mental gymnastics to avoid thinking about it, but what if this can't be fixed? Damian is with the League of Assassins, being hurt, used, and brainwashed. Dick would never forgive him if he didn't save their youngest bird. Jason would never forgive himself.

He fishes his gear out of the river it has floated its way into. He pulls the tracker, not trusting that he is the only one who can trace it. He picks up a discarded plastic soda bottle, seals the tracker inside, and flings it back into the river. Hopefully, that will tie up at least one Bat for a little while.

Next, he procures himself an old cheap laptop from a second-hand electronics store. He uses it to book himself a flight. With no resources and nobody willing to talk to him he'll have to fly commercial. It'll be much slower, make him easy to track, and just a pain in the ass in general. The only luck he's had so far is that his first flight will leave early in the morning.

While he waits he spends a few hours setting the laptop up to send each Bat a message every day for the next month. He does his best to make them both personal and meaningful. He doesn't want to lose any ground he's gained with Bruce, and he also wants the others to remember.

They were all trained in detective skills, and part of that is remembering important information such as dates. And if there is one thing a Bat can't ignore, it's a mystery or a puzzle. If he gives them something to solve, then they will be thinking about it, and if they are actively thinking about it, then hopefully they'll remember something. So, quite a few of the messages contain dates with tiny hints as to what makes them special, but Jason is careful to keep a mixture of pointed questions, statements, and memorable quotes or nicknames in there as well.

A lot of the messages end up being the same for everyone. He sends them all birthday dates and the designs of the many different Robin suits, as well as the Nightwing, Spoiler, and Steph's Batgirl suits. He also sends them all the date for the night the first Robin flew by Batman's side for the first time. He did the same for Steph's first night as Robin and Batgirl.

He addresses most of Bruce's messages to Batdad even though here he hasn't adopted anyone and is only fostering Cas. Tim still lives alone in Drake Manor. It really pisses Jason off, but he is already doing the best thing he can by trying to fix this broken world.

Some of the messages that Jason sends solely to Bruce include the date for when he first brought Dick home. The date for when he (finally) officially adopted Dick, and the dates for Steph's first night as Robin as well as her last. Some of the questions he sends Bruce run along the lines of, "Have you ever held a tiny bird close to your side tucked beneath a bat's wing?"

"Who's going to swing from your chandeliers now?"

"Does the manor feel dark and empty with only Cas and Alfie? Do you expect more people when you round a corner or enter a room? Do the halls ring silent, devoid of their bright laughter and the pounding of running feet?"

"Have you ever paused in front of a door in the family wing because you know somebody should be in there?"

He addresses some of Tim's messages to baby bird. He sends him the date that he filed on the batcomputer as the one he figured out that Robin was Dick Grayson and from there who all the Bats were. The date of his first night as Robin and the date that Steph "died" followed immediately by the question, "Has love ever hit you like a brick to the face?"

Some of the others just for him are, "Who taught you how to fly, baby bird?"

"Have you ever surfed on a train?"

"There is a special kind of weight to being the middle child."

"Rooftop tag, you're it."

"Get in the car loser, we're going shopping" would be her soul words."

"Do you want a hug? Doesn't matter, octopus hold engaged."

"Glitter bombs."

He asks Babs who the "Boy Blunder" is. If she was ever lonely when working with B during her Batgirl days. Who she spent her movie nights with. He sent her two shades of purple and asked which one was right. He sent her a lot of really bad but highly memorable puns and quippy one-liners.

He does this for each of them, including Alfred.

It never once occurs to him to send them anything about himself.

This is the majority of what I have for this one. I have a couple more vague ideas for it, but nothing as put together or comprehensive. Which is why I haven't actually written it yet. 😆

Once I have the full picture, I'll go at it in earnest.

#dick grayson #jason todd #jaydick #dickjay #nightwing #red hood #batman #batfamily #batboys #damian wayne #bruce wayne #tim drake #stephenie brown #ao3 writer #ao3 author #wip

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the-whatcherof-89 · 2 months ago

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Pearlescentmoon aka Pearl Moo the Un-beelivable Postmaster.

CR 18 NG/NE Medium Humanoid Shapechanger.

XP 153,600 (if used as npc for encounter)Human Entothrope Werewasp(Bee variant)Vigilante (Splintersoul)17

Neutral Good/Evil Medium humanoid Shapechanger(Human, vermin)

Init +6; Senses Perception +27 Darkvision 60ft Low light vision

AC 29, touch 19, flat-footed 23 (+6 Dex, +4 Deflection, +9 Armor) (+2Natural armor in Hybrid/vermin form) Hp 165 (17d8+85) (17 temporary Hp while in Hybrid/Vermin form)

Fort +17, Ref +22, Will +16 (+1 in Fortitude and Reflexes while in Hybrid/vermin form)

Speed 30 ft, 20ft climb, 60ft flying(good) Melee Axes+20/15/10 1D6+2(+9d8 precision damage)

Only in hybrid/vermin form: 2 Natural attack+18 1d4+2 Sting+18 1d8+2 plus poison(DC24 1/round for 6 rounds 1d2 Dex cure 1 save) and curse of entothropy DC15 Ranged Crossbow +19 1D8+3(+9d8 precision damage)

Racial Bonus feat (Master crafter), +1 Skill point per level, Speed 30 ft, Change shape Hybrid/vermin form(+2 Natural armor+2Dex +2Con, DR 5/silver, 20ft climb, 60ft flying, Darkvision 60ft, Low light vision, Natural attacks, Curse of entothropy), Entothropic emphaty, Insect mind.

Traits Excellent penmanship, Empty mask.

Class features Splintered identity, Seamless guise, Vigilante specialization: Stalker(+9d8 precision damage), Social talents: Renown, Celebrity discount, Great renown, Social grace[Bluff, Intuition, Stealth], Safe house, Quick change, Sudden change, Surprising change, Vigilante talents: Lethal grace(natural attacks, axe), Evasive, Cunning feint, Blind spot, Hide in plain sight.

Str 10, Dex 22, Con 20, Int 14, Wis 10, Cha 24

Base Atk +12/7/2; CMB +18; CMD +28

Feats Strong personality, Extra vigilant feats: Strike the unseen, Vital punishment, Up close and personal, Combat skill(Improved vital strike, Greater vital strike), Shield of blades, Signature weapon(axe), Returning weapon.

Skills Acrobatics +16, Appraise +6, Bluff +17, Climb +8, Craft(Stone & Metal) +20, Diplomacy +11, Disguise +20, Disable device+20, Escape artist +12, Intimidate +20, Knowledge (Dungeon +6, Engineering +6, Local +6, Nobility +6), Linguistics +3, Perception +17, Perform(oratory) +11, Profession(Postwoman) +10, Ride +10, Sense motive +4, Sleight of hand +15, Spellcraft +19, Stealth +26, Survival +5, Swim +10, Use magic device +11.

Languages Common, Draconic, Elven, Orchis, Aquan, Infernal, Vermin empathy.

Combat gear Distance Cunning Light crossbow+1, 50+2 Bolts, Merciful huntsman axe+2, Silencing axe+2, Ring of protection+4, Shadow mithral chain shirt+5, Belt of physical might+4 (Dex, Con), Headband of mental prowess+4 (Int, Cha, Spellcraft), Cloak of resistance+4, Amulet of mighty fists+2, Burglar boots(minor), Gloves of reconnaissance, Coat of pockets, Courier’s secret pouch, Hat of disguises, Black marketeer’s bag, Bookmark of deception, Codex of conversation, Corset of the Vishkanya, 4 Potions of Cure critical wounds , Manual of quickness of action+2(Used), Tome of leadership and influence+2(Used), 6 Doses of Blue Whinnis, Vigilante’s kit, Postmaster’s outfit, Mwk thieves tools, 2 Cats(Nugget & Olive), 10GP, The crimson shroud(Artifact).

The crimson shroud: This artifact is a ring with many ruby shards poking from the golden surface and glows and eerily crimson during the nights of full moon creating a full red cloak to shield the user. During said nights, the holder of the ring becomes even more unhinged and powerful granting a +6 bonus on Natural armor Strength and Constitution (an effect similar to the barbarian rage but without any other effects). The user feels compelled to perform acts of violence for no reason or under some animalistic instinct but NEVER against other creatures of the same kin(like humans or other bee creatures). While the user cannot notice or remember the acts it has an instinct to prevent to remove the ring as it makes the user immune to fear and charms that would even “suggest” to remove it. Furthermore, the ring rewards those that performs act of violence (even under guise) by granting the holder a regenerative ability healing the individual by 2Hp each round and increasing by 1 for every victim or defeated target (to a maximum of 10) during the night. The ring is said to be made with the crystallized blood of a war god and the only way to destroy it is to find his corpse and deliver it. To remove it from the finger without harming the user, one must use a couple of Rings Gates to deliver the ring on the other side at 100 miles, then have it being pulled out using a DC25 Strength check.

Background PearlescentMoon simply known as Pearl or Mrs Moo is one of the many inhabitants of the land of Hermits where many buildings defy the laws of possibility and brings wonder to those who lay their eyes upon them. Pearl is known as one of the many that helped to build many of these wonders, especially for Grian. She is in her own right a great builder herself that loves to mix various styles and she is known to have recently created a postal service along with Ethoslab and Tangotek where she is the Postmaster. She is a friendly outgoing person, especially with the “Soup Group” composed of Geminitay and ImpulseSV. However, deep beneath some people remember another Pearl, a red one, one that predated, hunted, killed: the Scarlet Pearl. Very few remember the events that transpired during the events known as Double Life but one that stood was when Pearl fell into a different more “Scarlet”persona, one that spilled the blood of both friends and foes. For some unknown reasons(maybe for the best) Pearl thinks that the event was but a dream. Who knows, maybe the other hermits subdued her to make her forget the event and let her return to her “better self” or maybe something more macabre occurred, no one knows. However, while her work distract her form these dreams she keeps seeing them especially during the full moon. One night she was restless and could not sleep so she went for a walk, the night was clear and tranquil but her fear of seeing again those dreams was more real than ever. “Do you want to be free of those dreams? I can make it happen.” Said a voice. Pearl jolted but found no one she was alone. “If you want to discover your crimson self and surpass it come find me, if you can. A guiding light is however, mandatory.” And she noticed a crimson light coming from a small hole in the ground. Pearl heard whispers in her head and could not resist, her hand reached in and as it came out it was wearing a golden ring with rubies on it. As soon as that happened the world changed around her and she found herself in a new land close to a town in front of an abandoned postal office. Her memories wandered but could not remember much, however she remained under her instinct as postmaster and carried on her duty not knowing that the night would have called for her other self to spread and grow her hive using her sting and punishing the criminals around the land. The Crimson Pearl was reborn, albeit a little different.

Image made using Heroforge.

#minecraft #roleplay game #pathfinder #pathfinder roleplaying game #hermitcraft #heroforge #pearlescentmoon #pearlescentmoon double life #double life smp

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kyoung86 · 15 days ago

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I didn't expect my camping trip to be the nightmare that it was. My high school friend Mark and I have had this tradition of hiking up and camping at Mount Alto in our old hometown since we both turned eighteen. It was a bit of a hassle to plan it every year now that we were adults and had to work around our jobs, but we always pulled it off. We both thought this visit was the most needed out of all of them though.

Three months ago, Mark's mother succumbed to the cancer that was eating away at her pancreas, and just a few weeks ago my live-in girlfriend Andrea and I decided not only did our ship sail, but it crashed on the rocks. I moved back home with my dad as it was Andrea's apartment I was staying in, and Mark also moved back in with his father in his time of grief, since he was an only child and there was no one else to be around him.

It had been a while since our last discussion about it, but we were finally able to pack all of our camping gear into Mark's truck and head down the old dirt road that led to the mountain. I can still feel the refreshing breeze of the hot summer air on my face as we rolled down the windows and Mark lowered the volume of the 90s grunge rock music blaring from the truck radio to flash me a grin.

"We made it, just a few more minutes and we'll be at Camp Shangri-la. You did remember to bring toilet paper this time, right?" He chuckled, his southern accent adding to the light-heartedness of the moment as he jokingly slapped my thigh. I let out a groan and shot him a playful smirk in return, tired of hearing the same old joke.

"Four years ago, man, four years. You're not going to let me live down the whole poison ivy incident, huh?" I jokingly echoed his playful pat on the leg. "I'll make you a deal, buddy. I'll hide the toilet paper this time. That way, you can experience what it's like to have a swollen, blistering, asscrack."

We both shared a laugh and carried on with our banter, but my thoughts kept drifting back to the recent turmoil between my girlfriend and me. It had only been a few weeks since everything happened, and I knew that healing would take time. The wound in my heart was still fresh, and the shock of it all lingered in my mind. We had been inseparable, crazy about each other. Six years back, we were just two carefree youngsters who crossed paths at a dive bar during a friend's gig. A few coffee dates later, and sparks flew between us. She was the one person who truly got me, and we had a seamless companionship. But when an unexpected pregnancy led to a heartbreaking miscarriage, everything changed. Grief wedged its way between us, causing a gradual drift. I couldn't pinpoint blame on either of us, but the shared loss acted as a silent barrier, pushing us apart.

I glanced over at Mark, his gaze fixed on the rough dirt road ahead as we ascended the familiar hill. His thoughts, however, seemed to have drifted back to the music playing on the radio, evidenced by his off-key singing. As I observed him, I couldn't help but admire his ability to push aside any emotional turmoil, even if it was just for a weekend. The pain of losing a girlfriend paled in comparison to the devastating loss of his mother, who had been a beacon of love and support not just for him, but for all his friends who visited their home. I remember a time from our childhood when we were both twelve years old and faced a bully at school; while my parents were unable to intervene due to work commitments, Mark's mother fearlessly confronted the issue with the school administration on our behalf.

However, fate was cruel, and within a short period after being diagnosed with cancer, she succumbed to the illness, leaving a void in their family that could never be filled. The cancer had snatched away a truly remarkable soul. As I dwelled on these memories, lost in my thoughts, I suddenly realized that Mark had brought the truck to a stop, silencing the engine.

"We've arrived, dude," he exclaimed, his grin spreading from ear to ear. Tossing his sandy blonde locks back from his face, he retrieved some of the smaller camping bags from the backseat. I gazed out the window, unfastening my seatbelt, feeling a wave of peace wash over me as I took in the forested area on my right. This was our sanctuary, our escape from the world. Stepping out of the car, I planted a foot on the pine cone and bark-strewn ground, immediately greeted by the symphony of birdsong and the sweet scent of nature. A sense of serenity enveloped me as I surveyed the woods that now surrounded us. Over by the flatbed of the truck, I could hear Mark grunting as he struggled with our larger bags, tossing them to the ground. I glanced back at him, seeing him haul out the massive bag containing our tent.

"Hey, Mark, I'm gonna take a little walk around here while we're here and take a leak. I'll lend a hand in a bit," I called out, already making my way towards a tree to do so.

"Sure thing" I heard Mark call out as I strode down the gentle slope into the forest. "Take it all in and let it all out," he added with a chuckle, amused by his own words. I couldn't help but grin at his usual antics, shaking my head as I continued, enjoying the crackling of twigs and pine needles under my boots. Reaching the base of the hill, I sought out a tree away from our campsite and began to relieve myself. Suddenly, a sound pricked my ears, a faint gasping coming from the nearby creek. It sounded like something struggling to catch their breath but trying to remain silent. Hastily finishing up, I zipped up my pants and cautiously made my way toward the source of the noise.

I could sense that the sound was coming from behind a large rock near the creek bed. However, as I approached, the noise surprisingly grew fainter instead of louder. Upon closer inspection, I discovered the tragic scene before me - a young fawn, mutilated and gasping for air. The deer's wide eyes held a look of fear and desperation as it struggled for breath. The lower half of its body was completely missing, with its entrails scattered on the ground and attracting flies. The remaining top half of the fawn bore small, bloody circular wounds that seemed to be from some sort of sharp object. Feeling overwhelmed and unsure of what to do, I called out for Mark. Even though I couldn't tear my eyes away from the horrific sight, I could hear the sound of Mark racing down the hill towards me.

"What the fuck?" Mark exclaimed as he stood beside me, his voice trembling as he gazed at the gruesome sight before us.

"What should we do?" I struggled to articulate, a wave of nausea washing over me as I observed the unfortunate creature. Mark scanned the area and located a hefty rock, lifting it above his head.

"We need to end its suffering," he gruffly declared, "you might want to turn away." I averted my gaze from the injured animal for the first time, and the sound of the rock Mark wielded striking the deer echoed through the air, putting an end to its agony.

"Jesus!" Mark's exclamation startled me, prompting me to gaze back at the gruesome sight. Instead of a deer's head, all that remained was a flattened mass of flesh, teeth, and brains, with bright purple wriggling worms squirming within the brain tissue. These chubby purple creatures were nestled in the brain matter of the once-vibrant animal, moving their hairy, gelatinous bodies in a dance like they were at a party or in the throes of merriment.

"What in the hell are those?" I shouted, taken aback by the unnerving sight of the worms. Mark stood there, wide-eyed, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I don't know. Perhaps some kind of parasite? I've heard that deer can contract a parasite that devours their brain, causing them to behave strangely," Mark mused. I turned away, unable to stomach the grotesque scene, and vomited, but Mark continued to talk as if oblivious to my distress. "As for what may have happened, it could have been wolves. Not a bear, though. We don't have those in this area," he remarked, finally noticing my vomiting and offering a comforting pat on the back. "I've made some progress with setting up the tent. Why don't you take a walk and gather firewood while I finish up? It might help you get some fresh air."

I nodded, still hunched over and wiping away the drool from my mouth. "Yeah, sure," I managed to say through a few more coughs. After ensuring that nothing else was going to come out of my stomach, I forced myself to move away. The nauseating sensation continued to permeate my body, my face flushing with heat and my stomach threatening to empty itself again. My arms felt heavy, and I had to will my legs to keep moving. It was like wading through thick water.

I couldn't deny Mark's suggestion about those strange purple worms, but they were unlike anything I had ever encountered before. My knowledge of parasites was limited, but it just felt unnatural for something so repulsive and hairy to exist. Mark, being a veterinarian's assistant, had a good understanding of animals.

I recall visiting the clinic one day to have a lunch break with Mark. He introduced me to the doctor he had been assisting, and as soon as Mark spotted me, he hurriedly led me past the waiting room filled with people and their sick pets. We entered the doctor's office, where he introduced us to Doctor Albright. While Doctor Albright seemed friendly enough, the sight of a jar on his desk containing a dog's heart infested with heartworms was quite unsettling. I understood the concept of showcasing the reason behind the work being done, but the display had a disturbing quality that reminded me of scenes from a horror movie. Despite this, the shocking sight of the infected heart paled in comparison to the unsettling creature Mark and I had just witnessed emerging from the deer's head.

My thoughts were abruptly interrupted as I stumbled, my foot catching on a tree root along the edge of the creek. I tumbled to the ground, my head striking a rock. A flash of white light enveloped my vision, prompting me to shut my eyes against the pulsating pain. Tentatively reaching up to touch the point of impact on my forehead, I felt the dampness of a trickle of blood – just what I needed. Opening my eyes, I discovered that I hadn't collided with a rock, but rather a metal surface. Before me lay a sizable square concrete foundation encasing a large metal circular lid, reminiscent of a manhole cover, complete with handles on the sides.

"What in the fuck?" I muttered aloud, struggling to stand up after the impact that left me disoriented. Bending down, I peered closer at the curious vent opening. Between the handles, which appeared designed for accessing whatever was concealed beneath, was a string of numbers and letters: '17439-HP10-4A'. Instead of clarifying its purpose, this alphanumeric sequence only piqued my interest further, compelling me to reach for one of the handles.

"Are you alright?" Mark's concerned voice behind me interrupted my contemplation, causing me to turn and motion him over.

"Come take a look at this, I found something," I called back, gesturing towards the mysterious lid. As Mark approached and observed the unusual opening, a look of bewilderment crossed his face.

"I don't know what it is, but I have a feeling whatever is below is just waiting for us to dive in on an adventure," I said with a touch of cheesy excitement. Mark chuckled and playfully rolled his eyes, motioning to grab the handle on the opposite side of me. Without hesitation, I reached out for the handle on my side as we both silently counted down from three, preparing to lift.

The lid was incredibly heavy, causing us to strain and grunt as we attempted to budge the metal covering. I felt a trickle of sweat mix with the blood from the small cut above my eyebrow, but the adrenaline kept me pushing forward. As we continued to heave the weighty object, it eventually gave way and lifted, leaving Mark and me holding it just a few inches above the opening.

With a final effort, we carefully shifted the cover to the side of the ground, revealing the hidden depths beneath. Peering into the darkness, we both felt a surge of curiosity and anticipation.

In front of us, a gaping hole revealed a stainless steel staircase descending into darkness. The pitch-black surroundings made it difficult to make out many details, but the sunlight above hinted at an arching passageway just past the stairs leading further underground. I caught Mark's eyes, and he returned the silent exchange before gesturing for me to go first.

Turning to my pocket, I pulled out my cellphone and turned on the flashlight, disregarding the lack of service bars on my home screen. Stepping onto the metal staircase, each clang resonated loudly as I descended, Mark's steady steps echoing mine a few paces behind. His phone illuminated the space above my head as we ventured downward.

As I neared the bottom, my light swept over the doorless, expansive hallway, revealing only mundane concrete walls with a peculiar touch of black paint on either side of the entrance. The markings read "SITE 17439-HP10-4A-A1," leaving us to wonder what awaited beyond.

I glanced back at Mark, who had his light fixed on the same lettering, shaking his head in bewilderment like me. Moving down the hallway, the feeble glow from my phone revealed a plain wooden door at the far end, adorned with a glass panel window that hinted at an office beyond, though visibility was scarce. My hand reached for the doorknob just as Mark's voice gave me pause.

"Wait." I turned to find him standing behind me, the brightness of his phone obscuring his features. "Maybe we should reconsider. This seems more heavy than we thought," he hesitated, "like it could involve some shady government stuff. I don't want to get mixed up in legal trouble."

I scoffed, "Seriously? We've come this far, and besides, look inside." Gesturing with my phone towards the window, I continued, "It's just as dark in there as it is out here." I turned the knob, feeling the door unlatch from the concrete wall. "This place is deserted. No one knows we're here in the middle of nowhere in buttfuck Georgia, exploring some mysterious underground bunker," I declared, already stepping through the doorway.

Surveying the room, the once typical reception area now appeared desolate, as if hastily vacated. The sizable white desk, hosting two now-disconnected computers, had its drawers forcibly yanked open, eerily empty. The towers of the machines had been stripped bare, bereft of their hardware, leaving only hollow shells behind. A noticeable absence of grime on the walls hinted at where frames once held portraits or artworks now absent. Dark hallways stretched into the underground facility from each side, the darkness impenetrable from our vantage point.

Adjacent to one corridor lay three overturned filing cabinets. Intrigued, I cautiously advanced further into the room, and my steps echoed in the unsettling silence. A damp squelch underfoot drew my attention downwards, and pointing my phone to the floor with my light, I discovered a small pool of a peculiar, gel-like substance. As I tried to lift my foot, the liquid resisted, its surface teeming with tiny, shifting bubbles. Examining my boot, I noticed a similar layer coating the sole, mirroring the bubbling activity beneath. Alerting Mark to the unusual sight, I directed his attention to the odd liquid clinging to my boot, seeking his thoughts.

"What's your take on this?" I asked, prompting him to abandon the filing cabinets he was standing over and scrutinize the mysterious substance. His response was punctuated by a contemplative hum, suggesting deep thought.

"I don't know. It seems to look like the mucus left by a snail, but I can't be certain. Better not touch it," Mark cautioned, his eyes scanning the room for clues. "I spotted something similar on one of the filing cabinets, but I sure as hell didn't touch it."

Directing my phone's light towards the cabinets he mentioned, I asked, "Did you find anything in there?"

"No," he replied tersely. "There wasn't a single file folder inside. What's even more peculiar is how spotless this place appears, despite its emptiness."

Mark's observation was astute; the reception area, apart from the strange liquid I had encountered, was unusually clean for an abandoned location. There wasn't any dust, as if it had only been empty a short time, but suddenly a noise emanated from one of the hallways, jolting us from our thoughts. The sound of someone struggling for breath and grunting in pain reverberated through the silent air, prompting Mark to cast me an alarmed glance.

"Someone is still here" Mark exclaimed urgently. Before I had a chance to reply, he sprinted down the hallway in the direction of the distressing sounds. I followed suit, trying to keep pace with him, but he had a significant advantage in speed, being a track team member back in school.

"Mark, hold on!" I shouted, struggling to close the gap between us, but his agility outmatched mine, compounded by his initial head start.

"Someone is injured, Luke!" he called out as he neared the corner where the cries echoed from. Determined to catch up, I pushed myself harder, yet I couldn't reach him in speed.

As I approached, my heart sank at the sight before me. Mark had reached the hallway's corner just as a figure pounced on him from the darkness. He staggered backward, pinned against the wall by the assailant. Drawing closer, I discerned the figure latched onto Mark was a man. His khaki pants were drenched in the strange liquid I had encountered, bubbles forming amidst the dampness. His torn lab coat, covered with vomit, revealed the familiar purple worms from those on the deer we saw earlier.

With a desperate gaze, the man peered up at Mark through shattered eyeglasses, one eye infested with wriggling worms protruding from his pupil, waving left and right trying to reach out to Mark.

"Please..." the stranger pleaded with Mark, who attempted to pull away from his grip. "We were mistaken. It cannot die. It refuses to let us die" His voice was chilling, a cacophony of two distinct tones speaking simultaneously. One voice filled with anguish, the other eerily serene. With each word he spoke, more of those grotesque worms spilled out of his mouth and onto Mark's waist. Mark managed to deliver a knee to the man's chest, dislodging his grip, before bolting back in the direction we had come from, grasping my arm in the process.

"GO!" Mark bellowed, his voice cutting through the air like a knife. Without hesitation, I pivoted on my heels and sprinted after him, my heart pounding in my chest. Behind us, the man's desperate gasps and moans echoed down the corridor. I glanced back to see the man on his knees, retching up a grotesque mass of worms onto the floor. Tears streamed down his face as he whispered apologies into the darkness, his voice raw with desperation, and those same dual voices.

There was no time for sympathy as I turned my attention back to Mark, my muscles straining as I pushed myself to keep pace. Just as I thought we might escape, a door swung open with a deafening crash, slamming into my face with brutal force. Agony exploded through my skull as I stumbled backward and crashed to the ground just as everything around me went dark.

As my eyes fluttered open, I was met with a wave of excruciating pain that threatened to consume me. My head pounded relentlessly, my ears rang with a deafening sound. Blood dripped down my face, mingling with my tears as I lay on my back, disoriented and lost.

The surrounding chaos blurred into indiscernible shapes and shadows, but the agonizing cries of wounded animals echoed through the darkness. Staring at the ceiling I could tell I was no longer in the hallway, but in a different room. With a heavy groan, I mustered all of my strength to roll onto my side, only to discover my cell phone lying next to me, its flashlight casting a glow.

Barely able to lift myself to my knees, I grasped the phone and brought it closer to my face. Through the haze, I saw a message displayed on the screen - a cryptic warning was left in the body of a text from myself with no recipient.

"Sorry about knocking you out, "but there's no time. It's loose, and they're coming. Find the key in your pocket, take a left, and head for the stairs. I'm already gone, you won't find me. Tell them what you saw."

As the gravity of the situation sunk in, I realized that I needed to hurry. I groaned more as I pulled myself to my feet. Shining my phone ahead of me to get an understanding of where I was. In front of me was a large metal table, littered with broken vials and scattered papers covered in some kind of chemical. To the left of the table were large kennels stacked on top of each other; I walked over to them and was startled to see the animals that were inside. In one was a brown falcon lying on its side and flailing its wing and legs; those hairy purple worms were covering its body, digging in and back out of holes covering its body, its flailing wing had several of them nestled in between its feathers, some of them were flying off with every flap.

In another kennel was a small bulldog, dripping out of the mouth with worms; it lunged towards the door of the kennel, barking at me, trying to break free. Another kennel had another baby deer that was constantly screaming; both its eyes were gone, and in its place were just mounds of wriggling, purple, hairy worms. I stepped backward away from the horrible site, backing into the table, my hand bracing on one of the wet pieces of paper on the table. I moved my light over it and could make some of it out, but the chemical poured over it made it difficult to read.

**The study of (illegible) infestations has taken a terrifying turn as we observe the takeover of hosts by these new entities that grant them incredible strength, dexterity, and unyielding resistance to conventional forms of (illegible). As the impending threat of human testing looms, ethical concerns abound as we witness the monstrous transformation of subjects into seemingly unkillable beings.

Methods: Subjects were exposed to parasitic infestation through controlled ingestion of contaminated food sources. Observations were made over an extended period to assess the progression of the infestation and its effects on host physiology.

Results: The parasitic infestation led to a nightmarish transformation in hosts, as they exhibited unprecedented muscle growth, enhanced dexterity, and an alarming increase in cell growth that rendered them impervious to traditional methods of treatment. Subjects displayed a terrifying hostility towards researchers and demonstrated a chilling ability to survive lethal doses of eradication attempts.

Discussion: The findings of this study reveal a sinister power within the parasitic entities that take control of hosts, granting them superhuman (illegible) and an unnerving resilience to harm. The ethical implications of continuing such experiments on human subjects are deeply troubling, as the potential consequences of unleashing these monstrous capabilities are beyond comprehension.

Conclusion: The parasitic infestation has unleashed a (illegible) within our research facility, as hosts are transformed into terrifying beings with incomprehensible strength, dexterity, and invulnerability. The looming specter of human testing raises grave concerns about the ethical boundaries we are willing to cross in the pursuit of scientific knowledge. As a researcher haunted by the horrors I have witnessed, I fear the horrors that may be unleashed if we continue down this treacherous path.**

I dropped the soggy paper back down on the table, inclining that whoever had written this report may be the person who dragged me into this room. I started towards the open doorway of the room, even more eager than before to leave. I stood in the hallway and recognized the staircase leading up the phone message must have been referring to 50 or so yards to my left, but a wet growling noise to my right caught my attention. Turning around, my heart froze at the sight of a large, humanoid creature clinging to the side of the wall on all fours.

The purple-skinned humanoid creature loomed before me, its lab coat and khakis in shreds and tatters. Its broken frame eyeglasses were askew on its large, yellow, predatory eyes that seemed to pierce through my very soul with a malevolent glow. Its muscular arms and legs were elongated and sinewy, with patches of dark hairs erupting from its sickly violet skin. The creature's bald head was adorned with a writhing mass of long, purple, worm-like tendrils that cascaded down its spine, wriggling and squirming in a grotesque display.

And from its twisted, contorted mouth hung the gruesome visage of my friend Mark's decapitated head, blood still oozing from the severed neck, the lifeless eyes staring blankly ahead. The creature stood there in eerie silence, a nightmarish amalgamation of horror and desolation, its presence sending chills down my spine as I struggled to comprehend the unimaginable sight before me. It opened its mouth and let out another wet growl, dropping Mark's head to the ground in the process. I was no longer frozen in place, it seemed as if my body moved on its own as I turned around and began racing for the staircase.

I could hear the creature behind me running along the walls in hot pursuit of me. Every fiber of my body screamed in pain as I struggled to run across the concrete ground, hearing the beast pounce from wall to wall in its attempt to catch me, bellowing out an unearthly scream in its frustration.

My legs seemed to find new strength while I ran up the cold staircase, and I propelled my whole body up into the double door covering that was at the very end of the staircase. Standing once again in the woods of Mount Alto, I looked around for something to keep the doors closed and quickly found a heavy tree branch just lying a few feet away from me. Hurriedly, I grabbed it, dragged it back to the doorway, and wedged it under the handle of the doors just as the creature threw itself into them, causing the doors to budge slightly and the branch to crack a little.

I turned away and started running along the creek bed, seeing the familiar hill Mark parked on just up ahead. My lungs felt like they were about to explode from the amount I was exerting myself as I passed the metal covering Mark and I used to enter the underground lab, but I couldn't slow down, not even as I passed the fawn we saw earlier, trying to push itself up on its remaining two legs despite not having a lower body or head.

I fell to my hands and knees, hearing the roar of the creature in the distance as I climbed the hill without falling, standing up, and throwing myself into Mark's truck once I made it to the top. I cussed as my nervous hands struggled to turn the key in the ignition, but settled myself once I heard the truck pur to life. As quickly as I could I made a sharp U-turn and began speeding off back to town on the bumpy dirt road that got us here. Along the way, I could hear helicopters above tearing through the sky, but I felt comfortable that they couldn't see the truck through the canopy of trees.

That was three days ago. Despite seeing several strange armored jeeps heading in the direction of Mount Alto, and occasionally seeing helicopters flying overhead in town, there has been complete media silence. I haven't been able to sleep, and I'm afraid of leaving my home. I don't know what was going on in that bunker, but whatever they were working on, is out now.

#creative writing #horror stories #creepy #creepypasta #short story #horror

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