#also this ones still in a tizzy because i. dropped them in a jar of peanut butter.

[poorlydrawninstarsandtime]

Siffrin needs a companion… Put Loop in the terrarium.

while they can benefit immensely from the companionship, loops are highly territorial and oft have a natural rivalry with siffrins. they require immense socialization before they can interact safely. so you're a fuckign crazy person if you think im gonna drop them in there.

[id in alt]

[kaeyas-beloved]

A Writer Worn Thin

Pairing -- Arthur x Reader (You)

Summary -- Writing is draining. Not writing is too. Add on the fact that you didn’t take the best care of yourself that day either, it’s no wonder you’re worn out. So of course Arthur is worried when he finds out - but! He does have a piece of advice for you when he learns the truth

Warning(s) -- Skipped meals, one swear word (please tell me if I’m missing something!)

Note -- It’s Arthur comfort hours (for writers specifically but it’s still comfort)! After writing this though I think I have to work on comfort fics a little... plus I feel like this fic is a little all over the place so I’m sorry if it is/seems that way.

 Also I wrote this instead of requests, sorry :( I’m working on them slowly I swear 

~~~

You’ve been staring at them for hours now. The feather pen, the jar of ink, the unfinished drafts. Oh the unfinished drafts are what taunts you the most. Morning, afternoon, evening, night, it didn't matter, the moment you step into your room they’re there, laying on the hardwood desk for all to see. You’ve tried hiding them, tucking the multitude of papers into a drawer - out of sight, out of mind they say - but your mind just wouldn’t let it rest, constantly reminding you of their existence.

The ideas were there, so were the words and sometimes, while you were occupied with some other house chore, your fingers would twitch with an ache to pick up the pen and write.

So why couldn’t you?

Every component one needs to sew a story together is there and yet the moment you sit down, ready to tackle the job with the means to make some progress, you always end up with none. 

It’s draining - no, that’s an understatement really. Or, it feels like it at least. 

Tonight was no different, you sat somewhat slouched at your chair, blank eyes seemingly staring holes into the few pieces of parchment. Between your fingers and thumb rested the soft and smooth material of an undipped feather. Somewhere in the halls of the mansion you can hear the echoes of Mozart’s piano, the sound soothing and perhaps the only thing that’s keeping you on the side of sanity.

“Maybe... later?” you whispered uncertainly, there was no guarantee that you’d try again at another time. The words having quickly faded into nothingness, you picked yourself up, your body simultaneously thanking and hating you for moving for the first time in forever. Briefly you wondered if it was best to get some water or simply crawl into bed. Though, seeing as it’s been who-knows-how-long since your last glass of H2O you figured it couldn’t hurt.

The moment you creaked open your bedroom door the melodic notes of the piano increased in volume, filling your ears the entire way down to the kitchen.

Hand unsteady you filled your glass and slowly sipped, taking the time to breathe the air outside of your stuffy, and frankly hot, room. 

Lost in thought it greatly surprised you when you felt arms snake themselves around your waist, your back hitting a sturdy chest. 

“Hello luv, I thought I’d never see you again!” Arthur joked, resting his head on your shoulder. Despite his best efforts you still caught the bit of his sadness and loneliness in his tone, the writer having greatly missed you after not seeing you for many hours of the day. The hint of a smile played at the corner of your lips, happy to see him yet still running low on energy.

“Hi Arthur...” 

“What’s wrong luv?” As always he was so in tune with your emotions, easily able to tell when something wasn’t right.

“Nothing...”

“It’s not ‘nothing’” he insisted, pulling you back from the counter and into a chair, pulling out the one across from you. Doctor trained eyes roamed over you, taking note of things worth of concern. 

Sluggish and an air of dullness - were you tired perhaps? But then he caught sight of the shake in your hand, the glass you continued to drink from moving with it. He frowned.

“When was the time you ate dove?” 

You took a moment to think, “This morning? No... last night maybe?” Your lover stared at you, eyes wide now.

“Last night!? It’s nearly dinner time now!” 

“It’s alrig-”

“It’s not alright!” Most of his rationality walks out the door as he becomes scared, panicked almost as he stood and headed for the fridge. He’s worked with people who’ve not eaten enough and he knows the side effects it could have - he’s panicking because he doesn’t how much you’re eating and how often you do. What if you faint? Or worse, become sick? Oh he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if something happened to you.

Faintly you could hear him mumble about Sebastian leaving light leftovers in there before he pulled out a container, setting it in front of you.

“Please eat luv... it’s not good to skip meals, you know?” he whispered, grabbing your hand and lifting it to his lips. You could feel the warmth of them as they connected with your skin, the sensation staying even after he moved away to kiss your temple. It broke your heart to hear the crack of his voice, that you’ve worried him this bad, but it also strangely warmed you to know that he’s fretting over your health. 

“Okay, I’m hungry anyway,” you told him, beginning to eat away. Your lover watched you, eyes never leaving you until you finished. He picked up the dishes, placing them in the sink. 

“Come with me luv” he grabbed your hand once more and started for his room, planning to lay you in his bed for you to rest until dinner, maybe open up about anything that's bothering you of you feel up to it.

“Actually...” his heart dropped - maybe you want to be left alone instead? He doesn’t want to leave you alone though, not when he’s still unsure what put you where you are now - body quivering and not eating - but he knows he can’t force you if you don’t want to either...

“Can we sit outside for a little?” He can feel himself breath a sigh of relief.

“Of course we can, I can’t say no to you” he smiled. 

When you both stepped out you sank down to the mansions steps, Arthur right beside you. Neither of you said a word, just taking in the fresh air that the cooler months brought, your head resting on his shoulder and hands held and resting between you two. 

Yet even if you didn’t talk, the writer continued to glance at you every so often, watching as your eyes gazed at the view. The unease he felt kept building within him, but finally you said something.

“Writing is a pain in the ass sometimes.” And he couldn’t help but choke out a laugh, a low sound that escapes under his breath.

“That’s right. Is that what’s the cause of all this?” he prompts, brow raising, but the puzzle pieces have already been put together and he visibly relaxes just a little more. 

You nod against him, humming.

“Yeah, it is. You gotta hate when you have no will to write but want to but can’t cause you hate the paper when you look at it.... like I love writing Arthur, I really do but, right now I hate it and just can’t write, you feel me?”

“Yes I understand luv, you’re experiencing this mix of writer’s block and a burn out most likely,” He chuckled again solely at your use of words, stroking your cheek lovingly, immensely glad that he knows how to help now that he knows the problem.

“How do you do it?” 

“What, write?”

“No! I mean, yes, but no. Like, how do you find the motivation to finish all your drafts?” 

“You want to know my secret?” Arthur teased lightly, his tone light-hearted one second before switching to something more serious, answering with such earnestness, “I take breaks.”

“...What?”

“I don’t force myself to put pen to paper. I let my imagination come and go as it pleases, writing only when I have the energy to do it.” 

“But...?” you mumbled, lifting you head to face him head on. You don’t get it, he writes so often though?

“It’s alright to not be able to write all the time luv, everyone is different” Arthur leaned his forehead against yours, the look of his eyes bringing even more truth and meaning to his words.

“Really?”

“Really”

You breathe a low ‘thank you’ to him, closing your eyes and letting your body loosen up as you snuggle closer to his side, positioning your head in the crook of his neck.

“Anything for you luv...” He placed a kiss on the top of your head, continuing the soothing stroking on your back now, waiting until you fully relaxed before suggesting to head back in.

As you both emerged back into the warmth of the mansion, Arthur made a note to himself to hide your writing for you - promising to distract you from it so you can recover in peace and go back to it with a clear mind at a much later date.

He loves you so much and hates seeing you fall apart mentally like this, so he’ll be there, ready to help and comfort you until you get out of this tizzy, he knows you will, you’ll make it through this rough patch. 

Writers block and a burn out can take a while to get over, he knows this all too well, so Arthur will be by your side for however long it takes,

“I promise we’ll see this through luv <3″

[detective-ai]

Presentation

AO3

The first time Rio kidnaps Shin Tsukimi, it’s total chance. He wasn’t being taken seriously as a villain! Keiji would always stop him with a hearty laugh, clearly remembering the silly freshman Rio from high school who could never manage to get along with anyone. He hasn’t been making a large enough impact with petty crime. He needs to go big! Go bold, go home!

So, he stages a large bank heist. He doesn’t need the money, but he does need the publicity. And sure enough, news reporters dole out in the dozens, bracing up against the barriers the police have set up around the bank. Rio surveys the scene again. Okay, so maybe there’s like... three. Good enough. Time to make his move.

He needs someone young, someone cute and pretty to send the town into a tizzy. He plasters a bright grin mask over his face as he leers down at the crowd, a pair of green heads catching his attention. Why the hell is their hair green?

He shakes off the distracting thought and shoots his grappling hook at one of the beams stretching over the front of the bank. It hooks, thankfully (god how mortifying would it have been if he’d missed). Rio rugs at the line to test its security before standing straight, smiling and waving down at reporters below.

And he jumps, the line growing taut and locking in as he arcs down. Someone in his audience gasps and several people point as he descends. Rio spins, just out of pure exhilaration.

Rio awards himself 25 style points.

He touches down, his legs hardly feeling the jarring impact of the concrete and releases the line as he folds into a roll, popping up into a sprint towards the two green haired reporters. Police shout around him as he approaches the police barrier, but a stern glare as he approaches has them hesitating. The taller of the two reporters- with his long, stringy hair pulled into a thin ponytail- hardly flinches. His bright, cold eyes flash warily as Rio approaches, fist clenching more tightly around his microphone. He feels something sinister crawl down his spine and he promptly decides this is not the one. The city would probably relish this slimy loser being taken off their hands. Can’t have that.

But the baby-faced cameraman behind him, with his powder-blue hair and his cozy jacket and beanie? The way he flinches back, jostling the camera on his shoulder? With his soft blue eyes that light up with recognition? That’s the kind of stuff that would have the city in an uproar if Rio were to snap him up.

Rio grins under his mask, skidding to a stop right before the two, so close he bumps the barrier. He pauses, letting the steel-eyed reporter eye him over. The cameraman behind him seems to hesitate, gaze shifting between the two before he hefts his camera higher and angles himself to catch both Rio and the reporter in the shot. Rio aims a happy wave at the camera. The reporter seems to take a breath to steel himself before smiling widely and lifting his microphone.

“I’m Sou Hiyori with ASUNARO News. Can I ask…” He hesitates and Rio rolls his eyes. “Who are you?”

“The name’s Rio Ranger, doll,” he drawls, a flicker of irritation curling in his stomach. He braces his palms over the barrier, leaning in with a sneer. Not that they can see it under his mask. Maybe he should consider a costume redesign. “Shouldn’t you know that if you’re a reporter? I’m not exactly new in town.”

“Maybe you’re not as big a name in this town as you believe then,” Hiyori returns with a smirk. Rio’s grateful for the grinning mask covering his lower face, since the scowl that that twists his lips certainly wouldn’t do anything for his popularity. The cameraman visibly flinches back in fear at the reporter’s words.

“You’re just horrendously underinformed.” Rio casts a glance around, scanning the area to make sure stupid Keiji hadn’t shown up early to crash the party. He’d set a few false leads around town to keep him busy, but certainly not for long.

“So, what do you have planned here?” Hiyori’s words cut through his straying attention, drawing his gaze once more.

“A robbery, naturally.” Rio sighs, lifting his hand to his head as he fakes exasperation. His gaze slides over, looking beyond the camera to lock eyes with the man behind it. He tenses, his grip tightening on the camera. “But that hero of yours will come soon, so… I’m also going to need a hostage.”

Hiyori cocks his head, the microphone dipping a little as his smile turns plastic. “…A hostage, huh? Me?”

Rio tosses his head a back with a laugh. “How presumptuous! I was going to leave it to a majority vote!”

He doesn’t want Hiyori, obviously, but he did write a whole-ass script and by God he was going to stick to it. He has a image to uphold! Or… create, as it may be.

“A vote?” Hiyori’s voice drips with sarcasm as he scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Of course, villainy runs on democracy.”

“Oh, what a snappy political statement.” Rio straightens, gesturing to the other two men. “Anyway, it’s up to you two! I’ll take either you, or your cute little cameraman here!”

“You want Shin?” Hiyori laughs a little, completely ignoring how the cameraman- Shin, apparently, what a cute name- frowns at him. The reporter grins lazily at Rio. “And what if we say no?”

He really doesn’t like this guy.

Bored, Rio pulls a small trigger from a pouch at his waist and presses the bright red button.

The front of the bank behind them explodes outwards, sending debris cascading down around them. Fire rolls toward them in a plume before curling up, smoke quickly filling the air. The ground shakes- Shin falls, the camera rolling to the ground beside him. Hiyori- the bastard- only stumbles back a step, his arm raised to shield his face.

The building shudders but remains standing. Good. It was easy to figure out where to plant the low-grade explosives to seal in his threat, but the building had to stay up for his grand getaway. Everything seems to be going to plan so far. Fantastic!

He laughs, stooping down by Shin, who looks up at him with wide, frightened blue eyes. The bright orange of the flames flick across Shin’s face. He holds up a hand, as if warding Rio off. Adorable.

Rio rolls his eyes and scoops up the camera, easily holding the heavy news camera at arm’s length to catch both himself and Hiyori in the shot.

“Answer enough?”

Hiyori grits his teeth and glowers at Rio. “I suppose.”

“Glad to hear it!” Rio bobs in place, glancing between the reporting duo. “So? Who’ll it be? Sou Hiyori or Shin…?”

He trails off with the question, raising his eyebrows imploringly at the man- who still hasn’t lifted himself off the ground. Shin grips his scarf tightly, mumbling into it. Even if the fire hadn’t been roaring behind him, he doubts he would have heard him. Rio leans in, cupping his hand around his ear. Shin flinches back before visibly taking a moment to gather himself and lean in.

“Tsukimi. Sh-Shin Tsukimi.”

“Adorable.” Rio pops back up, the camera teetering preciously in his hand. Shin’s face pinches and he makes an aborted movement, as if to catch it if it falls. “Okay! Sou Hiyori or Shin Tsukimi? Which of you will be sacrificed to my villainous plans!”

Hiyori takes a quick glance down at Shin and back to Rio. “Is anyone going to get hurt?”

“Nope!” He pops the p, but it’s muffled under his mask. “Well… Unless your hero makes things difficult for me. Or whoever comes with me decides he wants to fight back. Just don’t be a pain and you’ll be fine!”

Hiyori grits his teeth and takes a step back. Shin looks back over his shoulder in disbelief. Hiyori gives Rio a disgusted glare that he then turns on Shin. “I’ll make sure you don’t lose your job.”

“What?!” Shin shouts, gaping up at Hiyori. “I have a little sister to take care of, asshole!” he turns his glare on Rio. “I have a little sister!”

“Unfortunate.” Grinning, Rio shrugs and turns back to Hiyori. “You saying I should take him?”

“Yeah.” Hiyori nods. “I have people who need me.”

“I have a-!”

“A little sister, yes, you talk about her all the time.” Hiyori huffs. Ranger watches, fascinated, as a strange shift comes over Hiyori. The reporter’s face softens, and he kneels beside Shin, whose scowl deepens. “I’ll make sure she’s taken care of. But I have many many people who rely on me. I can easily add your sister to those I protect. But you understand that I have to be there to do that, right?”

Shin clicks his tongue and looks away, raising a hand to grip anxiously at his beanie. “…You promise Kanna will be taken care of.”

“Of course.” Hiyori shares a soft smile with Shin and holds out his hand. Scowling, Shin takes his hand and allows himself to be pulled to his feet. Hiyori reaches out to grip Shin’s upper arms, squeezing reassuringly. Then, almost teasingly, he adds, “Who knows? She may even be better off.”

Shin looks stricken as Hiyori drops his hold, wiping his own palms on his scarf. The two turn towards Rio, whose unamused expression has grown more and more impatient. “Well? You ready?”

He holds out his free gloved hand, wiggling his fingers enticingly. Shin squares his shoulders and ducks under the police barrier, reaching for his hand. He hesitates, shaking fingers hovering over Rio’s palm. Huffing, Rio snags his hand and pulls him snug against his side. Shin cringes away. The villain (supervillain) shoves the camera into his arms. “Hold onto that for me, would ya?”

Shin blinks down at the camera shoved against his chest. “What? Why?”

“Because I need both hands to make sure I don’t drop you.”

“Wait wait drop me? What do you mean, drop me?” Rio takes out his grappling hook again, ignoring Shin’s rising panic shrilling against his ear as he aims it towards the flaming building. “Wait, in there? You’re like a-a robot or something right? You know humans like… burn right?”

Rio laughs. “Stop worrying. You might sweat a little, but I’ll get you through this.”

“Rio Ranger!” A deep voice barks out behind them. Rio tenses, shooting a glare over his shoulder. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Keiji Shinogi, local superhuman and city hero, rockets down the street towards them, looking more enraged than Rio has ever seen him. Finally.

Shin perks up in Rio’s grasp, making a lunge for the police barrier. “Help!”

The android huffs and tightens his grip around his hostage, muttering about cooperation as he shoots the hook. “Time to go then!”

“Don’t you dare- hnk!” Shin gags as the hook catches and reels them in, choking on his words as Rio’s grip hooks into his stomach. He shrieks, tucking his face in against the crook of Rio’s neck as they zip through the air and into the flames. Rio can’t imagine the cameraman is feeling too well, surrounded by fire with his neck swathed in that deep blue scarf. He shrugs and dashes deeper into the bank, ignoring Shin as he begins to mutter under his breath.

“Safalin!” He shouts, struggling to be heard over the roar of the flames. The building shudders as Keiji shoves open the doors to the bank. Rio hisses, scooping Shin over his shoulder and bolting towards where he planned for his getaway vehicle to be. He hears the camera clatter to the ground behind them.

“Ranger!” Something on the other side of the room shimmers and a bright orange vehicle pops into existence. A bright green head hangs out the window, the blue ribbons on Safalin’s arms fluttering as she waves. “Over here!”

“I know over there, dammit, I planned for you to be there!” He shouts back.

Safalin draws back, scooting into the driver’s seat as Rio pops the door open and tosses his baggage in. Shin grunts as he bounces across the seats, blankly looking down at his wrists when Safalin reaches over and claps a pair of handcuffs on him. “I-I’m sorry, just a precaution…”

“Ranger, if you leave with that hostage things will not go well for-“

Ranger slams the door closed behind him. “Get going!”

Safalin nods and flips a few levers. The car lifts, bobbing the engines adjust for the weight of the car as tilts towards the ceiling. Shin flinches back into the seat.

“Please tell me you’re not about to try to fly through that.”

“Alright.” Rio lowers his mask, grinning down at Shin. Shin frowns up at him. “But you might want to hold on to something.”

They do, actually, fly through the ceiling. Rio climbs onto his knees to stare through the back window. Keiji stands under the hole the vehicle’s made, glowering up at them as they escape.

“Look at him, Saf, look!” Rio points over the back seat, laughing.

Safalin obediently checks the review mirror. “I say you left quite an impression!”

Rio settles back into the seat, kicking his legs up on the dash despite Safalin’s frown. He nudges Shin with an elbow. “No way they can ignore this!”

Shin stares steadily out the window, refusing to acknowledge his captor. Rio rolls his eyes.

He can sulk if he wants. The hostage isn’t even important in the long run.

It’s the response that counts.

[wacem]

Alone in the Dark

An Until Dawn fic by Wacem

Read it here or check it out on AO3, where everything is definitely formatted properly, because I suck at Tumblr.

Chapter 1

Chris --- 5:35 AM 

Tunnel to Sanatorium

Chris stumbled back a few steps and craned his neck to watch Sam clamber up the wall like a spider monkey. He shook his head. He'd never understand how a person could make that look so effortless. Hell, he'd never understand the appeal of rock-climbing in the first place. He supposed it was useful in circumstances like these, but heights just weren't his thing. At all.

“Guess it’s just you and me now, A--”

He turned around and stopped dead in his tracks. He thought Ash was right behind him, but his eyes met nothing but darkness. With the agonizingly slow pace he'd been able to keep up, he hadn’t even considered the possibility that she wouldn’t catch up. Hell, that's the only reason he hadn't waited for her back at the manhole. She had just groused at him for moving too slowly, so he figured he might as well get a head start. That way, she could overtake him, and no time would be wasted waiting for his crippled ass to keep up.

Only she hadn't. 

And now there wasn't so much as a glimmer of reflection on a rock to indicate her existence.

"Ash?" he'd meant to call out, but it came out as more of a trembling whisper. 

The wendigo got her. The thought sent a cold dagger through his heart and made his legs feel heavy. No. Not her. I've already lost enough tonight. Please, God, not her, too. His throat tightened, and unwelcome tears stung his already aching eyes. 

"Ash??" His voice tore through the lump in his throat and cracked. It sounded way too shrill to his ears, and the way it echoed through the caves filled his soul with dread. As far as he knew, the wendigo could hear just fine; it was just its  vision that was funky. Biting his lips to hold in the rising panic, he took a shaky step forward. The pain in his ankle, objecting to having been temporarily forgotten, vigorously reminded him of its existence. He grunted softly. 

Images of the stranger, alive one second, gone the next, flooded his mind for the umpteenth time since it happened. Only this time, it was Ashley's body dropping to its knees. Ashley's head thudding heavily into the snow while he stood paralyzed with fear, clutching the stranger's shotgun uselessly as the air filled with the monster's shrieks. First, the wendigo, he'll render you immobile. Then he strips the skin off of your entire body, piece by piece.

Nononono. She can't be dead. I'd have heard something, right? Screams or something. I didn't hear anything, so maybe she just got lost. 

"Y-yeah… yeah... she just got lost," he murmured to himself, hoping its utterance would make it true. Chris continued limping toward where he'd seen her last.  He'd noticed a path branching off to the left on the way here. Maybe she took that by mistake. She did have a notoriously wretched sense of direction, and they hadn't exactly marked their passage. 

As he moved, his mind wandered to the time he and Ash had gone to see Star Trek Into Darkness in IMAX. There wasn't an IMAX theater in their hometown, so they'd had to drive all the way to the city-- an hour away. Chris had just gotten off an overnight double and was utterly wiped, so he'd given Ash the keys to his car and let her drive. He'd figured that way he could catch some z's on the way up and actually be conscious for the movie. Big. Mistake. Next thing he'd known, Ashley's sheepish voice was waking him up saying, "We're here!" When he'd looked at the clock, he saw that they were four and a half hours late for the movie. They couldn't even catch a later showing! Turned out Ash had driven them to every single movie theater in the city-- during rush hour traffic, no less! --before she finally found the one their tickets were for. It wasn't a total loss; they were able to get a refund on their tickets, since they weren't torn or anything, and they tried again (successfully) the following week, thanks to Chris' superior mastery of navigation. Now that he thought of it… that had been the first time they'd really gone anywhere together without someone else tagging along. Purely coincidentally (he told himself), that was also when Chris first noticed how very, very frantically the butterflies fluttered their wings in his stomach whenever he was near her. 

After that day, she was firmly forbidden from ever driving them anywhere again. From then on, her official job on road trips was to be the in-flight entertainment. This normally took the form of her reading one of her books aloud like a live-performance audiobook. It was a duty she solemnly accepted and performed with gusto; she even did voices for the different characters. The memory made soft laughter rise up out of him like a bubble, and, like a bubble, it abruptly vanished at the thought that he might never hear her silly voices again. 

Oh, God, Ash. Please be okay. I could probably handle losing Emily and Jess… maybe even Josh. But not you. 

Emily's face, pale and gray in the light of the monitors, mouth drawn open in a silent scream, dark blood oozing from the hole where her eye had been. The contents of her blown-out skull adorning the wall behind her head like a macabre rorschach. The image he'd been fighting to suppress since it happened hit him like a freight train. He doubled over and retched the nothing he'd had for dinner onto the cave floor. The sudden shift in balance irked his ankle and made him stagger against a rock, aggravating the tender spot in his ribs and jarring his aching jaw. He groaned. As he pushed himself away from the wall, he wiped at a tickle under his nose, and his hand came away bloody. Great. His nose was bleeding again. 

Shit, he was a mess. 

At least his nose wasn't broken. Or… he didn't think it was broken. His jaw, like the proverbial fat lady, sorta dominated the chorus of facial maladies, and he'd had other things on his mind when he'd rammed his face full-speed into that damned tree. Like, for instance, not getting eviscerated by the wendigo hot on his heels. You know… something that could be happening to Ash right now?

Come on, Ash, where are you? Please be okay. 

Ignoring the pain in his ankle, he picked up his pace. It wasn't long before he came upon the drop he'd completely forgotten about. Only, going this direction, it wasn't a drop. It was a climb. A string of curses and obscenities ran circles around his brain. The ledge wasn't low, coming up just above his shoulders. Even his attempts to gently lower himself when coming the other way had yielded a sharp pain in his ankle on landing. How the ever-loving fuck was he supposed to get back up? "Dammit, Sam…" he muttered. "Remind me why you left the gimp to navigate these tunnels alone?" Of course, she’d been just as oblivious to Ash’s absence as he was, but that was beside the point.

Why had they even come here? Something about Mike and the sanatorium and the wendigo and needing to warn him about something and hell if he knew. He hadn't read the journal that had Ash and Sam up in a tizzy. Nobody thought to volunteer to him any information they'd found out, and frankly… he'd been too relieved at the prospect of getting away from Emily's body to ask questions. Now he regretted not asking. The decision to leave the safe room might have gotten Ash killed, and he needed to know it was for a worthy cause. At this point, though, even if it was for a worthy cause, if it was down to a choice between Mike's life and Ash's… well… was that even really a choice? Especially since Mike just…

A deafening bang, reinforcing the ringing in his ear. Ghostly face, mouth stretched open in a scream cut short. Dark blood trickling down from the blackness of her eye socket. 

"Oh, God…" Chris stumbled against the wall blocking his way, using it for support as his lungs tried to explode out of his aching chest. His body rocked back and forth; the arm holding the flashlight hugged his ribs in place, while his free hand clapped over his mouth to hold back his sobs. The burns near his mouth shouted their protest, and he stifled a moan. 

Oh, God, how had this night gotten so fucked? This was supposed to be a good night! A night of remembrance and catharsis. A night of reconciliation and rekindling estranged friendships. A psycho? He could handle that. It was horrible, but he at least understood a psycho. But curses? Monsters?? How do you fight something like that? How do you escape something that moves that fast? How do you protect someone from a fear so pervasive that it makes them murder their own friends? 

Oh, shut up with that 'they' and 'them' bullshit. You helped, Christopher. By sitting there and stoking that fear, you might as well have pulled the trigger yourself. 

No, no, no. He hadn't wanted Emily to die! 

You should have done something, then. Should have helped Sam calm them down. Should have disarmed Mike. You could have forced him to stop. Overpowered him. Something! You call yourself a man, but you just sat there like a pussy and let it happen. Just like with the stranger!

His head was swimming, and his ribs were on fire. Somewhere along the way, he'd sunken down to his knees, still rocking. He was hyperventilating. 

Let's face it, Chris. You didn't do anything, because you didn't want to do anything. You were just as afraid as Mike and Ash, and just as willing to sacrifice Emily to save your own ass. 

"I didn't think he was going to shoot her." The words were rapid, small, and gasping, barely audible. Mike hadn't shot Josh. He’d bitched at Chris for even thinking he would. So why would he shoot Emily? It was a bluff. Had to be. Just to scare her out of the room. Chris wasn't about to ruin Mike's bluff again. 

Her small legs falling from the desk, limp and lifeless, making her whole body jerk when they stopped short of the floor. Her head settling on the wall beneath the Jackson Pollock pattern of her blood and brains was the last movement she'd ever make. Chris squeezed his eyes shut, but the image persisted. 

How is that even better? You didn't think Mike would shoot her? But you were perfectly content to let him sacrifice her to that thing out there. You've seen what it does. You, more than anyone else here, know that compared to that? The bullet was a mercy. You didn't care if or how she died. You just didn't want to see it happen, you selfish asshole. You killed her, and you killed her for no damn reason. 

"We didn't know, we didn't know, we didn't know…" His hands and face were tingling. Shit, he was about to pass out. Now was not the time for this; he had to find Ash. He forced himself to take a deep breath in. The pain in his side kept him from holding it as long as he'd have liked, and it all came out in a pitiful sigh. But his head felt clearer, at least. He repeated this exercise until his thoughts stopped spiraling, sliding his free hand up under his glasses to wipe away the tears blurring his eyes. 

Now wasn't the time for self-recrimination or excuses. Ash was in here somewhere. The wendigo might have her. He keeps you alive and aware and feasts on your organs, one piece at a time. He couldn't let that happen to her. Melting down in a cave wasn't going to help anyone, and Chris refused to have another death on his conscience because he was too wrapped up in himself to lift a finger to stop it. Especially not Ashley’s.

He sighed, pushing himself back onto his good leg and regarded the ledge. How the hell was he supposed to climb this? Even at the best of times, he was a pathetic climber. He'd damn near broken his neck trying to clamber over the wall by the broken gate at the bottom of the mountain. And now? With a bum ankle, a jacked up face, probably a concussion, and whatever the hell was going on with his ribs? He groaned, grabbing the ledge and hoisting himself up until the edge was under his armpits. His legs scrabbled uselessly for purchase on the sheer rock. His ribs protested strenuously. He was just about to lose his grip when his right foot found an outcropping and pushed off hard enough to get his left leg over the edge. But the momentary victory was promptly shat upon by the blinding agony in his ankle. 

"Aggghh!" he hissed "Ow ow ow ow ow ow owwwww!!" Each syllable gave him strength as he pulled himself up the rest of the way and rolled over onto his good side. He curled into a ball of misery and grabbed his throbbing leg. "Shitshitshitshitfuckingshiiiiiiit!"

When the pain died back down to a dull throb, he slowly pulled himself up to his feet. It was more miserable than ever to put weight on his ankle, but it still held him, so he hobbled onward. Had to be getting close to the branch-off now.

He felt, more than saw, the side tunnel open up to his right. The air was suddenly less close, and through the passage, the wind sang a soft and haunting song. Dripping water served as percussion. It vaguely harmonized with the ringing in his ear. He flicked his flashlight over to the opening. 

"Ash?" His own voice startled him, deafeningly loud against the cavern's subtle symphony. What if the wendigo could hear? What if he was just broadcasting his presence?

C'mon, dude. Pull yourself together. Your nerves are fried. 

He thought maybe he heard something further down the side passage, but he wasn't sure what. It was hard to tell over the persistent ringing in his ear, but… it could have been Ash. Then again, didn't the stranger also say the wendigo could mimic human voices? If that was the wendigo, then Ash could already be dead, and he'd be walking to his own demise. Even if the thing hadn't gotten around to killing her yet, a rescue attempt would almost certainly end in his death. He wasn't even armed. 

But if it wasn't the wendigo… if Ash had fallen somewhere and couldn't get back up or something. If she was hurt, if she was calling for help... could he forgive himself for not checking?

Gingerly, he opened his mouth and felt the swollen skin from his cheek to his adam's apple pull tight in protest. The right hinge of his jaw popped enthusiastically. That was new. 

Ah, what the hell. He'd already sacrificed himself for Ash once tonight. Why not do it again? Maybe this time it'd actually matter. 

His free hand hovered over his jaw, afraid to actually touch it, lest it reawaken the fire in his skin. Bright flash, deafening bang, a ringing that drowned out Ashley begging him to shoot her instead. Shockwave smashing into his jaw and knocking his head back hard enough to give him whiplash. Burning agony in his face making him want to scream. But he wasn't dead. How was he not dead? 

He shook off the memory, "I- I'm coming, Ash. Hold on. I'm coming." And he limped forward.  

The entrance to the side passage wasn't level with the main passage, and Chris almost tripped over it. Which, he discovered, would have been very bad. There was a pretty sizable drop on the other side. He climbed onto the berm, hanging his legs off the far side, and just stared at the drop with his flashlight. You gotta be freaking kidding me. 

This was even higher than the drop in the main passage, and that one had hurt badly enough. Even if he didn't straight-up break his ankle, he didn't know if he'd be able to climb back out of this on his own. But, short of Ash noping back to the lodge without telling anyone, which seemed unlikely, there was no other direction she could have gone.  He should have just waited for her to close the grate. Dammit, he was such a moron. She was only lost because, after she’d refused to leave him behind, he’d gone right ahead and done it to her. There was no way he was going to abandon her again. 

That settled it. He took a deep breath and slid his butt off the berm. His stomach had an out-of-body experience for a second of freefall. His landing was rough and graceless, but he managed to keep his feet by reeling into a wall. There was a loud, painful pop from his ankle that he badly hoped was just his joint settling. His jaw snapped shut at the impact and its muscles seized up painfully, cutting his cry of pain into a muffled groan. His hand came up instinctively to massage the tension out of his fucked up jaw only to aggravate the burns. He hummed miserably through his nose. Damn it all. Josh, more than any one of them, should have known how dangerous blanks were at point-blank range. Chris wanted to believe that Josh, his best friend, hadn't meant for him to damn near blow his face off for a prank. But he also had a hard time reconciling that with all the rest of the batshit crazy bullshit Josh had pulled on him tonight. That and the fact that Josh seemed neither surprised nor particularly concerned by how badly Chris had been hurt by the muzzle flash. What chilled him to the bone was the very real possibility that Josh knew exactly what he was doing when he gave Chris a gun loaded with blanks and encouraged him to put it up to his own head and pull the trigger. He was damn lucky he'd decided to aim it under his jaw instead of at his temple. The latter probably would have killed him. 

Had Josh wanted that? Did he really hate Chris that much? God knows Chris had blamed himself plenty enough for his part--or lack thereof-- in Hannah and Beth's disappearance. If he hadn't had so much to drink, he might have been able to stop things before they got out of hand. Or at least he could have been the one to go after Hannah, instead of Beth. But no. He'd been too shitfaced to be of use to anyone. Classic Chris maneuver. Always present when things went tits up, but his presence was never beneficial. He'd had to find out what happened second-hand, despite being there. If Chris was being honest with himself, he deserved a good, healthy, superheated blast of explosive decompression to the face.

But if Josh felt that way, too, how had Chris gone a whole year without noticing? He wasn't completely blind. He'd known things weren't good with Josh, but he had no idea they were anywhere near homicidal levels of bad. Was he really so self-absorbed that he couldn't see how deeply his best friend was hurting? Had he been so busy pining after Ashley that he'd completely missed how much Josh hated him? 

That would make sense, wouldn't it? Just a couple hours ago, he'd literally sacrificed Josh to save Ash. Flipped a switch, knowing full-well that it would send a whirling blade of doom over to cut his best friend in half. It didn't matter that it wasn't real. He hadn't known that at the time, and Josh knew he didn’t know. And now Josh knew that Chris was perfectly willing to kill him for a girl. What an awful truth to discover about someone you thought cared about you. Chris knew he'd be upset if their positions were reversed. So perhaps this was his punishment for prioritizing Ash above everything else. After all, nobody would have been hurt if he'd chosen to shoot Ash, right? She'd been across the table from him; too far away to be affected by a blank. But no…no... the thought of shooting her… it was unthinkable. It made his stomach tie up in knots. Even now, knowing the gun had been filled with blanks, he'd still rather shoot himself. 

The pain in his jaw subsided as the muscles slowly relaxed. He pushed himself off the wall and limped through the tunnel, hoping there weren't any more branch-offs to complicate things. 

All right, jackass. You're down in a hole, playing hero to impress a girl who may or may not still be alive, armed with a flashlight and bad puns. You haven't even touched the wendigo yet, and you're already beat to hell. Like a dipstick, you left the shotgun back in the lodge. What, exactly, is your plan?

Find Ash? Not die? That was pretty much the extent of it. 

That's not much of a plan.  

Much as he hated his little Voice of Better Judgment and loved few things more than ignoring it, he had to admit it had a point. He'd be no help to Ash dead.

The earth shook. Like, legitimately shook, making him stumble. A deep rumble resonated into his very soul. Rocks big and small were shaken loose from the cavern's ceiling, pelting the ground all around him. One of the bigger ones nailed him in the shoulder. The blow, only slightly softened by the padding of his coat, drove him to one knee. 

"Shit!" he cried, raising his other arm up to shield his head. When the patter of falling pebbles tapered off, and it seemed the cave wasn't planning to collapse on him after all, he lowered his arm and tilted the flashlight beam up toward the ceiling. "What the hell was that?" But the stalactites above him had no answer. They just dripped menacingly, promising that, next time, one of them would fall on him and leave him with more than just a bruise. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Don't even think about it. I've got my eye on you. All of you." 

One of the stalactites dripped directly onto his glasses. "Aw, c'mon. Really?" He dropped his head and snatched his glasses from his face, unzipping his sweater to go to town on the soiled lens with his t-shirt. "Whyyy?" Chris did the best job he could cleaning them, but his shirt was drenched in sweat, and the water was… not clean. That lens was thoroughly smudged now. Wiping it might have actually made the situation worse. Squinting through that nonsense was gonna give him a headache in about three seconds. He put his glasses back on and glowered at the ceiling with one eye. "Not cool."

Defiantly, the stalactite dripped at him again, but this time he dodged it and got back to his feet, grimacing as he put weight on his right leg. "Onward and upward," he muttered and continued deeper into the tunnel. 

The tunnel wound and twisted. The floor was uneven and threatened to turn his ankle with every step. The walls and ceiling closed in around him, making him want to duck his head, to avoid the jagged rocks above. The path was so dark and claustrophobic, the beam of his flashlight seemed barely capable of cutting through it. Why would Ash ever come this way?

"Ash?" He paused to listen for any response, but the tinnitus was just too damn loud. He reached up to vigorously rub and bat at his ear, hoping to clear the stupid out of it, but, stubbornly, the ringing persisted. Who knew discharging a gun right next to your head could fuck up your hearing so bad? 

He sighed. Well… you knew that. That's why you always wear hearing protection at the range. But, like an idiot, you still did it. In fairness, though, he hadn't exactly been expecting to survive the gunshot. His hearing had been pretty low on his list of considerations. Now though? He was kinda starting to think maybe Van Gogh wasn't quite so crazy for cutting off his own ear.

The passage turned sharply to the right and opened up again into a room held up by mining beams. Moonlight filtered in through the cracks of a boarded up shaft, casting god-rays on a table beneath. In front of the table was a trap door, and in front of that…

"Oh no..." Chris blinked, not wanting to be sure of what he was seeing. Maybe it was just a trick of the light passing through his filthy glasses. He closed one eye, cutting off the interference from the lens smudged in cave crap, but that didn't help much. He'd have to get closer. 

But he really didn't want to get closer. Because that thing on the floor looked a lot like Ashley's beanie. And it was in a massive puddle of blood. If he moved closer, the comforting arms of doubt would vanish from around him. And he couldn't bear the thought of knowing something had happened to her. But what was the point? He already knew, didn't he?

"Oh my God, no..." his legs buckled, and he staggered forward to keep upright, dropping to his knees in front of the offending object, only faintly aware of the blood soaking through his jeans. There could no longer be any doubt. That was Ash's beanie, and it was covered in blood. The wendigo had gotten to her. Chris had seen what it does, how fast it works. He could see all the blood. So much blood. Surely nobody could survive that much blood loss. 

Ash. His Ash… with her long-suffering indulgence of his sense of humor, her big doe eyes, her adorable button nose, and the soft, warm lips he'd only just gotten to touch with his own…was....

The last beam supporting the mental dam that had been holding back his steadily mounting despair finally cracked. His grief came pouring out of his mouth in a flood of tears and sobs, unmindful of the danger he, himself, must be in. "Oh my God, Ash. No. No!" He scooped her beanie into his free hand,  feeling the soft wool slither over his fingers, leaving in its wake streaks of blood. Fresh blood. His hands felt like they were a million miles away, as he rubbed the blood-- Ash's blood-- between his fingers. The room around him wobbled and swayed; everything was surreal. It felt exactly like a nightmare. Yes. This was a nightmare. It had to be. But if so, why couldn't he wake up?? 

"I can't stand it…" he whimpered, his voice cracking. "None of this can be happening. This can't be real! Please tell me it's not real!" He lifted the beanie to his face, imploring it to respond. Begging Ashley to appear from around the corner or out of the trap door and tell him it was just a joke. A prank. A nightmare. That she was okay. But she didn't. The beanie reeked of iron, not corn syrup. Tears poured down his cheeks as he lowered the beanie and tucked it into his pocket. "No… no… no…" His eyes dropped to the cavern floor, looking for something-- anything-- to latch on to. Any sign that it wasn't hopeless. All he saw was a trail of blood connecting the puddle to the trap door, where it ended. If there was any chance whatsoever of finding her, it'd be down there. 

Numbly, he got back to his feet and shuffled over to the trap door. There was the gnawing sensation that he was just throwing his life away, but he couldn't be bothered to care anymore. If she'd died because he left her behind, then maybe he didn't deserve to survive the night. He bent down stiffly and opened the trap door. There were more support beams down there, some ancient, leaky hazmat drums, and pipes leading into darkness. The air was rank with the smell of must and whatever was coming out of those barrels. More blood pooled at the base of the ladder. Shit, there was so much of it. It trailed off in the direction the pipes were running. 

Setting the trapdoor down clumsily against the legs of the table, Chris started down the ladder. But after all the climbing, jumping, and… even just walking, his ankle picked that exact moment to decide it'd had enough. The first moment he put all his weight on it, it crumpled, and his foot slipped off of the rung. His hands, hampered by the flashlight, lost their grip on the ladder, and down he went, landing hard on his back. The air whooshed out of his lungs, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get his chest to expand and let new air in. 

God, this is how I die? By falling off a ladder that's like two inches high? After everything else, this is how it ends? For f-- Then his diaphragm started functioning again. His endless, involuntary groan stopped, and he took a huge, shaky breath. Nope. Not dying. His ribs hurt like a mother-- more than they already had-- but nothing in there seemed to be moving in an unnatural way, so he supposed he must be all right. Just knocked the wind out of himself. Slowly, he rolled over and fumbled for the flashlight that had flown out of his grasp during the fall. Once he found that, he rose unsteadily to his feet, his ankle grumbling like Yosemite Sam. 

With one hand, he rubbed at his leg conciliatorily; with the other, he cast the beam of the flashlight down to the pool of blood at the base of the ladder. Its structural integrity had been obliterated when he landed in it, but it was easy enough to follow the trail. 

He didn't have to follow it far. 

A few yards beyond the reach of the moonlight streaming through the trap door, his flashlight beam fell upon a big, red lump on the floor. Chris felt his stomach seize up into a tight ball and cram itself into his throat. For a long moment, he absolutely could not get his feet to move. When they did, they felt so heavy it was like moving through mud. Everything around the shape disappeared from his consciousness, and the closer he got, the more clear it became. Soon, it was impossible for him to deny the truth of what he was seeing. It was Ashley’s hoodie. But it was like those old crime scene photos from the Manson murders that Josh had shown him once. One of the victims was wearing a white nightgown so saturated in blood that the investigators initially thought it was red. Ash’s hoodie was the same way. You’d never know from looking at it now that it was gray. But there was something else wrong with it. It wasn't lying right on the cavern floor. It should be lying flat. Why wasn't it lying flat?

You know why, Christopher. 

"No," he hissed viciously. "It's just her hoodie. If she was in it, I’d see her head sticking out. Maybe her hoodie came off while she was fighting."

But down beneath the waistband of her hoodie were her shorts, and coming out the bottom of those were her leggings and boots, and those were definitely not empty. And there’s no way all of that would come off in a fight. But there was still nothing coming out of the collar of her hoodie! Then his eyes drifted down to her sleeves. Poking delicately out the ends were small, pale, crimson-streaked fingers. Unmistakeable. 

The ramifications of what he was seeing hit him like a ton of bricks. The stranger. Alive one second. Gone the next. His head toppling from his shoulders and thudding heavily to the snow. But it had Ashley's face when it landed. "Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God." He wanted to deny it. He needed to deny it, but no matter how hard his mind whirled for anything to latch onto, there was nothing but the truth.

Where was her head?? Letting out a horrible yell, he dropped his flashlight, fell to her side and found her hand, but there was no head to cradle. No eyes to look into. No hair to stroke. No cheek to caress. And her lips… the memory of her kiss haunted him, a ghost of warmth on his icy lips. The sensation was so intoxicating, and now he would never experience it again. He had no way to feel close to her but to take her blood-streaked hand and sandwich it between his own. 

Noise was coming out of him, maybe he was saying something, but hell if he knew what it was. He didn't even know if there were words, or if it was just a mindless outpouring of pure anguish. His vision swam as it locked in on the perfectly manicured fingers of the hand he held, took in the blood caked in the cuticles and under her nails. Was it hers or the pig's blood Josh had used to fake his death? Did it matter? Did anything matter? Then he couldn't see anything but vague blobs. His vision was obscured behind a flood of grief, and even blinking couldn't clear his eyes. So he closed them and doubled over into a hopeless, rocking ball. Unaware he was doing it, he pressed the back of her hand to his mouth, sobbing into it, washing away the blood with his tears. Her hand was still warm. Still warm! Maybe if he'd realized she was gone sooner… if he hadn't wasted so much time being an emotional wreck… if he hadn’t been an idiot and hurt his ankle in the first place… he might have been here in time to help… to do something…

To take her place. 

Yes. That, more than anything else, was what he wanted right now. He wanted to die knowing that she'd be all right because of it. But he'd never get to do that, because… because... Ashley was-- 

His mind recoiled violently from the word. He just couldn't accept it. This was clearly someone else's body. Someone wearing her clothes. One of Josh's horribly realistic dummies, maybe, with the head ripped off. He desperately wanted to cling to that idea. It felt warm and comfortable. But deep down he knew better. The smell of her hand, like peaches and vanilla mixed with old books. The soft warmth of her skin against his cold cheek. They were as familiar to him as the weight of his glasses on his nose-- impossible to mistake for anything else. For anyone else. There was no escaping the reality. This was Ashley’s body. Ashley was dead. Her words echoed back to him. 

It's just not fair!

His face stretched in a rictus of grief as he lowered his head to her chest, using it to muffle his sobs.

It's too late, Chris. What's the point?

Her chest was silent and still. No heartbeat to be heard. No whooshing of air through her lungs. No rise and fall of her breast. Each observation came like the fall of a hammer on a nail being driven through his heart. 

We've wasted everything. 

"Oh, God, Ash. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry." His voice was too high and broken, muffled by the fabric of her hoodie and coming out in quick, wavering gasps amidst the rapid heaving of his chest. "It should have been me. It should have been me. I should have saved you. I'm so sorry." His head was swimming. His face was heavy and tingling, and his lips were numb. His hands, still clasping hers, felt a million miles away. Chris was vaguely aware that he was hyperventilating again, but there was no stopping it this time; he didn’t want to stop it. He just didn't care anymore. If he died down here, what difference did it make? He’d failed in the one thing that mattered most to him; there was no living with that. Spots bloomed across his vision, even though his eyes were closed. Vaguely, he heard the sound of something clamoring in the room up above. He sat up, opened his eyes, and still couldn't see through the swarm of darkness blooming across his vision. At the movement, he felt the blood drain out of his face. Suddenly, his head lolled heavily forward, his shoulders went limp, and he slumped over Ash's body in a dead faint. 

[49scribes-a]

{--More stream quotes!--}

YEA BO- wait. What the fuck is this. OH MY GOD THAT MUSIC. I'M TRIGGERED. I FLASHING BACK SO HARD. GOODBYE.

Hige don't be dramatic you're fine

NO I'M NOT. I REMEMBER HAVING FF ON GBA. -SCREECHES-

Honestly I was playing The Evil Within 2 the other day it was a traumatic experience for me.

Fuck that, yolo it.

No I'm not gonna yolo it.

Assaless.

Speak my name when u arrive... say my name boi.

I received the Sword of the Order.

Kinky.

Do you seriously remember that?

Jesus christ that was so long ago.

Was it? I have no concept of time. I literally don't. Like none. The bashtard.

Basch. Baschtard. Vaangina.

*Gets out the hose. Pressure washes Hige with holy water*

I smell. Something weird. Like hot glue.

*turns into swiss cheese*

RIP swissed Hige.

WHAT THE FLYING FUCK. IS BURNING. IN RL. I SMELL HOT GLUE. AM I DYING RN. THEY SAY YOU SMELL HOT GLUE WHEN YOU'RE HAVING A SIEZURE.

Where's the spy pirate I wonder.

I've heard of smelling brussel sprouts...

It varies. Some say copper pennies. Some say hot glue. Some say burning stuff.

Dead raccoons smell a lot like melting brussel sprouts. Pro tip.

Hige I-- I don't... wanna know how you know that.

Cuz of their hobby.

Vaugn the oversharing fuckwit. Relatable.

I genuinely forgot how to spell his name, and just don't care at this point.

Jar jar binks!!!

Its Vaan. Two a's.

Van. Vaan. Yawn.

Wtf was that noise Vaan.

Sell shit, be rich for about 5 seconds, then be poor.

He's just a teenage boy.

OH. I KNOW WHAT I'M SMELLING. FUKING FI R E WOR KS.

Sky pervert u say.

Everyone in this house but me is like 'OH MY GOD ITS GUNSHOTS. 100 PERCENT GUNSHOTS. THE WORLD SO DANGEROUS.' And I'm like... bitch... its fireworks... 'NO -- ITS NOT -- I WAS IN THE ARMY I WOULD KNOW WHAT A GUNSHOT IS. PLUS, I JUST SAW THE FLASH FROM THE BARREL'. Excuse me... guns don't... guns don't flash.

flash from the bARREL. I'M LAUGHING.

That's not... how guns work.

Oh what I don't have my party with me.

I was waiting to see how long before you noticed lmao.

Wow you guys are so mean. Not telling me I forgot my party.

I'm gonna summon them like beatle juice.

Oh man it didn't work.

Oh there you are. I tried to summon you like beatle juice but it didn't work.

Well you shoulda said that chant over a dead possum. Then I woulda heard you.

Confession. I'm still hella weak for bunny tatas.

I DON'T REMEMBER ALL THE FAKE NAMES OKAY.

Clearly neither does Vaan.

Am I ready for the mines? Am I? Aaam I? I am let's go.

Ah, so polite. You're also like. My well of never-ending potions.

Oooooo. Whip him. Whip him daddy.

Jfc.

I want to see him broken and bleeding and crying for more.

*gets the holy water hose again*

THATS NOT HOLY WATER. THERE'S NOTHING HOLY ABOUT IT. EXCEPT THAT IT FILLS ME WITH HOLES.

Exactly.

What big teef u have.

Every city looks pretty at night. They look better on FIRE at NIGHT.

We're not lighting Bhujerba on fire.

WHY THE FUCK NOT. WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH ALL THIS GASOLINE NOW.

Okay, Hige? You can set that airship right there on fire.

=DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD MAKE IT A FUCKING PHOENIX.

Hello sexy.

Nevermind. He looked better through the blurry window. Fucking frizied hair.

Everyone looks the god damn same to me.

Assless.

[spongebob voice] Iiiiiii'm ready. Iiiiii'm ready.

Idk where they are ho.

I don't know if this is weird but, does catnip... smell like tea? Cuz I think it kinda smells like tea.

Wouldn't know, I've never smelled catnip that I can remember.

I missed my chance to be Cool and say 'I've never snorted catnip'. I disappoint myself.

Awwww, but I want to take out half your kingdom army with this.

Dang you only had 8 gil? You're a poor ass soldier, what the fuck.

I guess I will just. Sound the alarm.

sOUND THE ALARM. BEE BU DEE BU DAH DEE DEE DEE.

Now I'm gonna have to look that song up. gdi.

You gonna slap her again? ...I mean him, not her.

What FUCKING level are you? Oh my gooood.

God-- Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

DON'T STOP. BELIEVIN.

n y o o m.

SUPER SAIYAN.

R i p t h a t du d e.

aAWWWWWWWWW WHAT ARE TH O SE. THEY'RE ADORABLE.

KNIGHTKNIGHTKNIGHTKNIGHT.

KNIGHTTTTT.

I can't find the gd song.

lOOK AT THAT ARMOR.

Found ya bitch.

I ALWAYS FORGET ABOUT THE GD FILTER.

THEY'RE ADORABLE. I WANT 10.

Okay but u know what else is fucking adorable. The. Sheep. In Nautilus Park in FFXIII. ...Wow it  didn't censor me that time.

THE SHEEP LOOK LIKE MUPPETS WTF. THEY'RE SO CUTE.

Lavi was honestly just. "I'm living in this park now. I'm never leaving these sheep."

Doug wants a moogle.

I PLAYED A MOOGLE ONCE. AND THEIR HUMAN FC WAS KOMUI.

Chocobos are better.

THERE. Fuk u chat.

But also omg. Komui as a M O O G L E.

Chocobos are blessings.

I need to find that blog I had now.

FOUND IT.

I did so many fucking laps around this airship. Eventually I ran out of spawns. It was just. 'Damn'.

Jeez Vossler, god damn, put some eye drops in your eyes.

'You won't be able to leave this area easily, you should think about saving in a different file' NAAAAAAAAAH.

Wait, you mean you weren't. Fighting anything all this time? God damn it Ashe. Didn't have your gambits on, *growls* /PRINCESS/.

I mean. Its an honest mistake. At least you didn't go out into a sandstorm without your party to fight a Mark kek.

FIX YOURSELF.

fIGHT FIGHT FIGHT.

Okay. Let's just go with this. Too many. I don't like it.

*sips cola*

(elis voice) i gOT THE COLA.

[coach voice] COLA.

Honestly my favorite is. 'Ah now Coach you look like you done this before.'

SOMETHING ABOUT THAT LINE JUST. ISN'T RIGHT.

Exactly.

I hate being blinded too tbh. I say as I never wear glasses I need to wear.

GDI BASCH

fuk u, alarm

*long gasp* God damn it shE'S ALSO LEVEL 14 I'm fucking screeching.

Yaaaaaaay my favorite one. Tides of Fate.

HEAVEN'S WRATH SOUNDS LIKE A REALLY COOL INNOCENCE NAME NGL.

It sounds like it'd be a cool af staff.

Hi, Doug's possible ancestor.

O this fight was "fun"

oHO DAM N SHE ANGERY

I read aero as lero

*to the tune of shots* BUTTS BUTTS BUTTS BUTTS BUTTS BUTTS BUTTS

I'll see myself out

Here comes butts.

bUTT

BUTT

Bun Butt.

U know. Bunny tailed Lavi is one of my favorite things in RWBY and FFXII verses. /Especially when he's agitated/.

ANGERY BUNNY BUTT.

I'm st ill l aug hin g. When Weiss worked him into a tizzy about if she was complimenting or insulting him and he couldn't figure it out. Bunny tail going a mile a minute.

Oh my god I remember that ask. That was my favorite ask, just cuz it worked him into a tizzy. She wasn't gonna answer him either, he would've been like "are you complimenting or insulting me?" and she would've just been like "Yes."

t h e f u c k w a s t h a t. That thing looked like something out of a nightmare.

THAT THING. NO. THE ALIGATOR LOOKING BITCH.

I'm here and AM queer.

THAT.

THOT.

SCARY BITCH.

Hello queer. I'm ace.

Changing my name to Hiqueerge.

THE BACON PEPPERONI WOLF. BACON PEPPERONI. I'D EAT THAT.

j FC WHY.

I don't know why they did this but. God. Horrible clashing colors.

You wouldn't eat that Hige.

I WOULD. BET IT TASTES LIKE CYANIDE AND HEARTBURN.

Oh my god, Hige. Why am I friends with you?

Its like a um... chimera. I think chimera is the right word.

The fast forward run is fucking killing me. They need chipmunk voices.

Ashe is problematic. Her skirt is not functional. This... is both problem and not a problem at all. Its a problem because why bother wearing anything at all at that point. Its not a problem because at least it keeps the perverts happy.

Ashe is problematic... although right now its currently basch. Because he hasn't reACHED LEVEL FUCKING 14 YET.

I hate her boots though. I hate those boots. I wish they'd just given her actual pants.

Fight her boots.

Her dysfunctional wardrobe is the final boss.

Jar jar binks got big.

Stronk stronk bigs.

THERE BE ANOTHER ONE.

AAAAARRRRR. YE BE AFTER ME TREASURE?

I can't be a pirate anymore tho so. w e e p s.

KILL IT WITH FIRE

FIIIIIIIIRE

FIIIREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Cure me, bitch.

You know I haven't been paying attention-- *gasps* OH MY GOD I FINALLY LEVELED UP, REALLY?

LOOK AT THAT. ALL LEVEL 14 YAAAY.

*HEAVENLY CHORUS IN THE BACKGROUND*

HAAAAALLEJULAHHHH

I... all I can imagine is that skyrim video. With the crier. Flying away into the horizon as he’s giving a sermon.

HE ASCENDED.

tfw you kick the power strip and knock the internet out.

k it n o. don't kick power strips. Power strips are friends.

This is what happens when I never sit at a desk.

R e l a t a b l e.

Why do I do this to me.

S C R E A M S. p oor r ox as. P oor stupid axel.

ROXAS DESERVED BETTER.

I love axel. He's a good. But not really. He's an asshole, but. We love him anyway. He tried to be a dad. I'm proud of him.

All fictional redheads are Goods But Not Really lmfao *side eyes Lavi*

Okay well. Maybe not /all/. *side eyes Cross harder*

Judge Cross all u want. Stupid fuck.

Hinata's the only ginger who'se excused.

Ok abut also Reno. Fucking Reno. RENO'S A BITCH.

Okay but I really wanna get fucking. VII remake just so I can see Reno even though Reno is the stupid fuck who takes a whole sector of a city and just. Drops it on another fucking sector oF A CITY.

I feel like Reno wears that title proudly. I almost typed tittie.

he does- S TU. IS JUTN. FUC KF.

bye isa.

IMD VHC. HE ELP.

Sometimes I can still hear his voice.

V IOLENT CO UGHING.

Wind sure is loud today.

w o w.

I WANT TO ADOPT ALL OF THE MOOGLES.

I wanna be a sky pirate.

Lavi, I can't believe you're calling Reno out.

Let Reno have the tittie of bitch.

The tittie of bitch? Really?

I CHOKED ON MY FUCKING CHILI.

NOW YOU KNOW HOW IT FEELS.

TRAITOR.

Vayne's a dick and he can go choke on it.

Larsa <3

Larsagna

*chants* SANDSEA SANDSEA SANDSEA

*chants louder* SANDSEA SANDSEA SANDSEA SANDSEA

RIP Bianca. I... almost typed Pianca. Today is a weird day for me. Fingers having a bad day. I ALMOST TYPED FINDERS. I give up.

Finders do have bad days.

My fingers are dyslexic pass it on. Calling u stupid bone sausages out.

Doug is a prime example of finders with bad days-- especially when he makes deals with the D.Gray-Devil.

DID YOU ACTUALLY ALMOST MISPELL MY /NAME/, KIT? AND did you actually mispell my name on purpose Isa, how dare.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. TOOOOOOOOOTTALLLYYYY not.

Yes.

NO. I'M SORRY. FORGIVE ME. HAVE MERCY.

No mercy.

I dunno, Isa, should I forgive you? Should I? Should I...?

Y e s. You should forgive me.

Nah.

I'm an angel, remember?

Nop.

Ye.

Angels don't talk about eiffel tower dic

besides the eiffel tower incident-- I. I came out to have a good time and I'm honestly feeling so attacked right now.

Also where tf is Hige.

Dead. I died.

u creepin u creepe-- oh there u are.

Yesterday I died~

n o p e.

Tomorrow's bleedin~

GET OUT.

And take ur pain with u >: (

t a k e s m y p a i n w i t h m e.

kIT KICKED ME OUTTTT. HE'S A MEANIEEEE.

nYEH @ KIT.

tfw you have too many muses. Shoves sheryl and the millenium b i tch out.

SANDSEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

#AESTHETIC

There's this one rare game you get by chaining 100 urutan yensa. I'm not doing that.

That's a lotta yensa.

Bye Vaan. Have a nice sleep out in the middle of the desert.

Yeah, I ditched him. I don't even care if he's asleep. I ditched him.

[brites]

Could I get the entire Shiratorizawa team sick? I love mass Illnesses and your blog~