#but at least a decent chunk are funny

[mariogman25]

TAPE BREAD TO YOUR FOOT TO CURE DIABETES

[sonknuxadow]

I think the funniest dynamic with jet having a crush on sonic is jet is always like. hyping up himself and sonics relationship he's like "Yeah i'm basically sonic's greatest rival. yeah he doesn't know what to do without me. he's obsessed with me." and its like hard cut to sonic and they're like "sonic what are your thoughts on jet the hawk" and sonic remembers all of jet's little smug shit remarks in the riders game and does the excalibur face. much love to jet.

LITERALLY . never forget the tailstube clip where tails mentions hardcore sonic fans and opens this image

[grandtheftautumn]

It’s very funny going to alt/pop-punk shows w/ heavy millennial crowds because they’ll be saying shit on stage like “It’s 2006 in here tonight, baby!”/“You’re gonna be jumping & dancing around like we were in 2007!”

I get it, but respectfully, I was in first grade.

[morningmask27]

if I'm chattering about my friends/crush here all the time anyway, I have to admit that I have a severe aversion to philosophy after whatever the fuck happened the last year of secondary school (so the year right before university) and I have personal beef with Plato, but my crush is actually interested in that and tbh... I will not go out of my way to study it, but I would probably hang onto every word my crush would say about it and I should maybe tame my first reaction of distaste (though, the intro to philosophy class I had last year wasn't That Great either, so I don't have a lot of good experiences academically with that subject)

[arolesbianism]

Thinking abt my nuggets again. Explodes them.

[feverdreamjohnny]

"Why There Will Never Be a Peeb Adventures" otherwise known as "The Peeb Adventures Pre-Mortem"

Since 2020, I've made a good chunk of games. Hell, even though I've been doing this for 10 years to date, the majority of my progress as a creative began over the course of this 4 year period.

Out of all the games I've made - or otherwise had a hand in - there is only one that's apparently struck a chord so deeply with people that to this day I still get messages and comments asking when it will come out.

The title of this post already explains the whole deal so I'm not gonna be dramatic about it right here. As per usual, I will instead get heart-clutchingly dramatic about the subject by the end of this story.

I felt the idea of a "Pre-Mortem" might be a fun way to talk about games that will never be finished. Maybe I'll make more of these down the line for other old games, who knows.

"The Incredibly True Origins of Peeb Adventures" or "Wow! I Hate It!"

Peeb Adventures began as a gift game for my long-time friend Aaron. It was simple, mostly functioning as a fun little gag that stemmed from a 3D model I made of a character he doodled during a drawpile session. I gave Peeb a grapple hook just because I wanted to experiment with swinging mechanics and felt the gag gift was a great space to toy around in without having to actually ask myself how on earth I'd want to structure a game around a grappling hook. Foreshadowing!

Eventually, the gag gift did that classic thing all developers have experienced before where your game spirals out of control and grows into a hideous monster, and what started as a fairly abstract grappling toy convergently evolved into that dreaded state we call a "3D Mascot Platformer."

I made a very short demo in the summer of 2020. It went absolutely nowhere, and after an idol of mine caught wind and asked to play it (before sending about 3 paragraphs of feedback suggesting how to improve what was, in my view, a trainwreck of baby blocks stacked on top of eachother), I shelved the project.

"The Absolutely Tremendulous HPS1 Adventure of Peeb" or "My Friend Jam Suggested I Revive the Project and So I Did"

Shortly after Peeb was shelved for the first time, I joined a community of game developers called Haunted PS1. For those not in the know, HPS1 was essentially the nexus point for "retro horror games" in the indie sphere, and a lot of the resulting deluge (non-perjorative) on itch.io can find its roots in this community.

HPS1 was a good place. Lots of nice, talented people willing to tolerate the kind of mindless riffing I often do in voice calls, anyway. I made a decent chunk of friends there, some of which I'm still quite close to, even today.

HPS1 has this tradition called the HPS1 Demo Disc that began in 2020, and with the year coming to its end, there was talk of a new one set to arrive in spring 2021.

Unlike the first demodisc, however, 2021's disc required you to submit a game in-progress to a panel of judges. They'd then give their yay-or-nay, and you were either in or out.

One day, I was musing over the fact that I didn't really have anything to submit so I would likely have to sit out of 2021's disc. My friend, Jam, who you might know as the developer of the Heilwald Loophole (or Beton Brutal) suggested I consider reviving Peeb Adventures as my submission to the demo disc.

Why did I follow through on this? I don't know. It's funny to think a scenario this simple was the launch point for my career.

Over the next 6 months, I worked on turning the absolutely horrendous gag game into... Something still kinda trite but at least playable. I had some help from my longtime teammate drurylain, my longtime friend Aaron (the creator of Peeb's original design), and my longtime spiritual uncle Tim, and with our powers combined... A new kind of demo experience where you don't do anything of particular note besides swinging around was born.

Also quite important: the very same drawpile session that spawned Peeb also spawned Orbo, who would also make his own appearance in Peeb Adventures as a recurring side character (since I felt like Peeb needed a friend).

"Go! Incredible Friendship Unites in the Gameosphere! Peeb and Orbo are Born!" or "Peeb Adventures: Coming Never"

So the demo for Peeb Adventures was finished early March 2021, and the demo disc went live on itch.io on the 25th of the month.

The demo disc then proceeded to do a backflip and pick up a LOT of traction online. Which then meant Peeb itself was catching little bits of the traction in its mouth and smacking its lips.

I went from "guy who makes games for nobody" to "guy who makes games for that one very specific brand of teen on twitter who loves the object head show", and I was riding high.

Fanart poured in. People showed a lot of love. I was dazzled by it all, really.

Despite the love for the game and the potential on hand, progress was stagnant. My group of friends and I all got together in a google doc and wrote an entire planning bible for the game. Game mechanics, story beats, twists and turns, the whole thing. Despite having the structure lined up, I had other ambitions and began working on a multiplayer deathmatch game that quickly overtook my work schedule.

Peeb sat on the backburner, but at the time I still wanted to finish it one day. My main excuse was "well, I just need more money! If I'm going to work on this game it's gonna need more than one fulltime person and I can't just ask people to work for free!" That excuse worked on me for a while.

"I Don't Think I Want to Play With You Anymore Peeb!" or "There's Such a Thing as Too Much Love"

A while had passed at this point. My ambitions hadn't just grown, they'd completely shifted. Before long, I found myself working on yet another demo for the 2022 HPS1 Demo Disc, "The Spectral Mall."

Nowhere, MI wasn't just some random toy for me, but the culmination of all my love into one game. Despite its silly demeanor, the game was a product of a lot of pain, and even now I still desperately want to finish it. Except I have to make money to live, so... Oops!

Anyhow, there was a shift in demeanor for me during 2022. You have Peeb, a game that I made on a whim as kind of a joke with friends, and you have Nowhere, MI, a game that meant the world to me during really dark times.

And you know what? There were a lot of people that wanted Peeb. People that never stopped asking me about it.

I realized while working on Nowhere that I didn't really know what I would even do if I ever had the chance to work on the full Peeb Adventures. Not only did I find the nagging kind of annoying, Peeb was also something I couldn't really... Wrap my head around?

It occurred to me that Peeb wasn't really "my" game anymore, it was "his" game. The old Johnny.

I'd changed a lot since the game had come out in early 2021. In a year and a half my world got flipped upside down, and... I don't know, Nowhere was way more reflective of who I was now. Sure the humor was still pretty asinine, but there was a shift. It was hard to picture the "Peeb Adventures" people were actually looking forward to when my own sensibilities had drifted so far.

When the Nowhere demo came out along with Spectral Mall, it did... Alright? People liked it, but it wasn't the same as Peeb's release. Hell, even in Nowhere's release there were people pushing it aside to ask the same question they'd been asking every week leading up to it. "When is Peeb Adventures coming out?"

"Goodbye Peeb!"

It was increasingly harder and harder to not look back at Peeb and kind of hate it. It was rough in every respect, and yet it whenever I met people who'd heard of me online, they always cited Peeb Adventures.

Strangers continue to ask me when it's coming out. On rare occasion I'll get someone asking about Nowhere and I'll feel a bit excited anyone else cares about that game besides me and maybe my friends, but most of the time people just ask about Peeb.

To finally answer this question I've been asked for nearly 4 years: There will probably never be a Peeb Adventures.

"Goodbye Johnny."

I like to believe one of the reasons people are attracted to my body of work is because I make games to reach out to other people. That's probably not the real reason, but it's nice to play pretend and imagine your work has more significance than just "ha ha boner."

I put a lot of myself in my games and I rarely hold back, even if an idea is insanely stupid or strange. The result usually becomes something more like a scrapbook than a game.

It's hard to try and expand on a game like Peeb when the Johnny who made it isn't really with us anymore. If I worked on Peeb now, you'd get some kind of irregular frankenstein that'd never be as exciting as the original vision was.

By the time I get around to Nowhere again, am I still going to be this Johnny? Or will the next Johnny look back at Nowhere the same way I look at Peeb now? Who knows.

Anyway, look forward to more games from me and my friends. Even if it's not Peeb Adventures, it'll still be us.

[melissa-titanium]

some hanas. maybe even some zawas.

design notes under cut i like talking about my terrible choices

very much Not noticable but i wanted to emphasize his lashes closing in his. like. post-meeting mob design

like his eyes after meeting mob kinda. idk if i drew it well but his eyes r less sly and more cheerful BUT theyre squinted more so he sees less. does that make sense. i really lean heavily into my teru rose tinted lenses metaphor but come on man. like i tried to make him look "happier." "nicer" but in reality nothing really changed other than he can't. see. he can't see.

oh wait also i ve hced this for a while but i always thought the idea of his wig still being on his head after 7thdiv arc because his hair hasnt fully grown back was funny. so in his post 7th division design for me at least hes got like. two stripes down his temples where his hair was left after he got shaved. lol

ALSO I KNOW I DREW HIM BEFORE WIT LIKE LIGHT SKIN. but 1) i kind of hate shading light skin its a fucking nightmare. 2) all the cool designs with teru had darker skin. 3) i wasnt confident in my ability to emphasize the contrast of his design. but i think i did decently. i HOPE i did. teru i love you i hate you i want to bash your head in with a rock

also the? earring wasnt erally a particularly important design choice i just thought it looked nice and matched tha three buttons on his school uniform. upon further thought i think it would be cool if his earring got ripped off during his fight with mob & left a scar... permanent reminder. hair grows back, chunks of flesh dont!!!!!!

also this design was majorly inspo'd by @ / unnbatteryacidd , @ / sallymew4 , @ / bugcatcherkit and @ / nothingbizzare if they were not obvious .

[utilitycaster]

what are those 5 things? 👀

Seeing people start admit that maybe Imogen and Laudna did in fact pressure Fearne excessively hard to take the shard. I think it's good Fearne took it in the end, but yeah they really made it difficult for her to express her doubts and that was shitty of them. I got extensive hate for saying that at the time from people who are literally saying the same thing now. It's very funny.

The (entirely valid) complaints I've seen that people care more about imo/dna as a ship than Laudna as a character and are making her book solely about the fact that Imogen will show up in it. I pointed out this exact same problem occurring while Laudna was dead, almost two years ago.

Caleb considering leaving the Nein means they aren't really bonded. Imogen considering leaving Bells Hells means she's so perfect and caring and selfless and noble and good. Anyway yeah sure I definitely believe that if Imogen were a man played by Liam everyone would definitely be totally uncritical and love everything she did. (This is also a layered one, given how Twitter has been bashing Orym nonstop for over a year).

I know it's been a month and I've said this repeatedly so this is a bit tacky but I'm still riding the absolute Irony High of people being like "STOP TALKING ABOUT HUBRIS STOP TALKING ABOUT HUBRIS anyway of COURSE Bells Hells would NEVER see the gods as a messed up family, just like them" and then jump cut to Laudna literally saying that. It's just genuinely so funny that people mad at everyone calling Aeor full of hubris proceeded to get their wax wings straight up vaporized at the top of episode 102.

People calling imo/dna the bestest most organic most slow-burn sapphic ship ever (it's not even the longest slow-burn f/f ship on Critical Role; even if you're stupid enough to count the two years we know virtually nothing about just for the purposes of padding out the time to eliminate Beauyasha on a technicality - nevermind that slowburn is about the length of the story itself and not the length of time the characters have known each other, since it's obvious that if someone said 'here's Jane and Kate, they've known each other for 300 years, now they are kissing' this would not be a satisfying slowburn unless like, you went back and filled in the 300 years - Kimallura STILL wins) but as someone who received a decent amount of harassment for saying it wasn't very interesting and as such kept tabs on the people engaging in that harassment...they've been dropping like flies. If it's the best sapphic ship ever and it's canon and you're in the top 5 ships for the show of all time on ao3 and Delilah's gone and they're going to get their cottage, funny how a good chunk of the shippers haven't even managed to stay interested in CR. Also why are half the people who HAVE kept up like hmmmm what if I threw Fearne or Ashton in there. Like believe me, I support a poly hells situation, but uh. quite a tumble for what people used to call the Beating Heart Of The Campaign (TM).

Bonus! This is below a cut because it has spoilers for next week's Re-Slayer's Take that's only out for Beacon subscribers but

we see Devexian, and he meets Frog (an aeormaton PC) and his overall statement on Aeor is "it created us to serve, and we fought for our autonomy. It was both a beautiful and terrible place. Anyway the past is past, what's important is that we as aeormatons take our chance to live now, and my personal goal is not just to bring back as many aeormatons as I can, but learn how to make more aeormatons." He is completely uninterested, at least in 839 PD, in any sort of action against the gods. Like, I think he regrets the fall of Aeor because a lot of Aeormatons and knowledge died in it but he literally is like "your life is defined by your own choices, not your designation at the time of Aeor." The actual survivors of the fall of Aeor are like anyway, we want acceptance, autonomy, and the means to control our own production in modern day Exandria. Ludinus whomst.

[pondslime]

subterranean

FANDOM : house of wax (2005) PAIRING : bo sinclair x afab!fem!reader RATING : explicit 🔞 WORDCOUNT : 3.9k

Reader POV. Basement fuckery. He tells you it's to keep you humble. It’s really just to keep you scared. The distinction doesn’t matter. You end up here again and again, knees biting into the concrete.

Crossposted on A03 here.

⚠️ Stockholm Syndrome. VERY dubious consent under duress. This was supposed to just be porn without plot. But then I lost my goddamn mind. Oops. Decent amount of weird prose. Depersonalization and derealization. Pet play (but make it weird and kinda metaphorical). Collaring. Forced boot riding. Vibrator and anal plug use. Bondage/gagging/edging. Bo at his absolute WORST (his natural state), being smug and mean and awful. Dirty talk dialed ALL the way up. Extremely dehumanizing and degrading language. Mind break elements. LOTS of backhanded praise. ⚠️

You always got too comfortable.

A lifetime before—when you were first here—you sat on this mattress with him, swallowing down mouthfuls of cold beef and carrots. You can remember the soup swirling in the can, murky and brown like a puddle of stagnant rainwater. He hadn't bothered to warm it up for you, but it hadn’t mattered. The food was something. Sometimes it felt like everything.

You licked the broth off the spoon as he plugged another tape into the VCR.

“One of my favorites.” He told you. Of course it was. Every movie he showed you down here was one of his favorites. Every can of soup might be the last. It was always the same things, over and over.

That’s when you started to lose track of time, you think—when you’d started to cling onto all that nothing.

Time wasn’t all that bad of a thing to lose, was it? Who needed it when his thumb was rubbing against your knee, stroking up your skin? The soup was cold, and his hand was warm. You traded one for the other and you liked it.

Funny. Thoughts like that always felt like they came with an or else tacked at the end.

A chunk of potato sat unpleasantly on your tongue—almost bitter, gravel in your mouth. Just like everything else, you swallowed it down.

He pressed play, his fingers drifting up your thigh. The TV quality was fuzzy, interrupted by the occasional flicker of static. Sometimes the films he chose would start in the middle of scenes. You’d get brief glimpses of things he’d recorded over—the triumphant blare of a talk show theme cutting off mid-note, dropping you in media res. He always assured you that you weren’t missing anything. At least that was one thing he didn’t bother lying about.

The movie wasn’t why you remembered that day, though. It was because of something he’d asked you.

“Where��d ya’ grow up?”

You hadn’t known what to say. He never asked you things like that. Your confusion only deepened when you turned towards him. There was no tension in his jaw, no furrowing of his brow. He looked, for the first time, wholly and startlingly calm.

When you failed to answer, he leaned forward and switched the TV off. He never did that either.

“Tell me ‘bout it. Whatchu do out there, anyway?”

You always regret not lying to him.

The world had shrunk down so much in the time you’d been in the town that it almost felt like you could gather it up and stuff it in your pocket.

You think about home. It looks different now.

Spidery tendrils of dust cling to the gaps between the balusters. It’s so difficult to get light in the house. No matter how many windows you open, there are always corners lost to shadow.

It’s strange how you could be up there one day, replacing the bulb under a fringed lampshade—and the next, you’d be tumbled back underground.

Just last week, you were lying on the couch in the living room.

The dog had padded into the room. She’d been gone for the better part of the day. With the doors unlocked, she went wherever she pleased. It had worried you at first, but it didn't anymore. She'd never leave town. She knew better.

At least, that’s what he’d said.

“Come here, beautiful.”

Jumping up, she curled into the space beside you. You wrapped your arm around her, wrinkling your nose. She reeked terribly of dog, stale corn chips and dirt and musk. You wondered if she might let you give her a bath now that you were in her good graces. It took a while to get there, but she came around. In a manner of speaking, the same thing had happened with you.

Pretty funny, huh?

Earlier, you'd been thinking about the puppies in the pet store window. Did she know about them? Slumbering away behind glass and dust, forever only a couple breaths old. Click. A switch was flipped, and they were as alive as they would ever be, nestled on newspaper shavings. On days like this, did she ever make her way down the hill to see them?

“Girls don’t last in this town.” You murmured, scratching behind her ear. “Just me and you, yeah?”

With a huff, she buried her head in the crook of your neck. It seemed like she was done listening to you.

That was fair, really. Half the time you weren’t even saying what you were really thinking anymore—and when you did, you weren't entirely sure that you made much sense. So much of yourself was locked up in your head and you kept forgetting where you left the keys. It all got clogged up inside your skull and oozed out of your mouth in a trail of sickly platitudes. You were just so thankful, so grateful.

“Sorry.” You whispered. You were always sorry for something, and sometimes you even meant it.

The rays of light were receding off of the arm of the couch, crawling up the wall. Your thoughts filled the living room. You could almost see them floating through the air, bouncing off each other like bubbles. Fleeting, effervescent things, popping as soon as you tried to track their paths. When you turned your head, you could smell his cologne. It was his jacket, hanging discarded over the couch cushions.

For a sudden, terrifying moment, you missed him.

That’s when you said the prayer. You didn't know where you meant for it to go. You guessed it was for whoever was around to hear it. Most days it was him and some of the time it was his mother. Both choices rang false. If God was still in this town, it was here, caught in these beams of light. Or maybe God was the dog heavy on top of you, her breath a rhythmic rumble against your throat.

Maybe you wouldn’t last long. Maybe it was all just wishful thinking.

Today, Bo fastens the collar around your neck. The leather feels heavy against your skin.

He tells you it’s to keep you humble. It’s really just to keep you scared. The distinction doesn’t matter. All the light bulbs you screw in will eventually need to be replaced. Wiping away the dust only gives way to more dust. You'll end up here again and again, knees biting into the concrete.

This almost feels more like his room than the one he sleeps in up at the house. Here, you can feel him more than anywhere else. There's more of you down here too. Real, tangible parts of yourself. Look around. There you are in the stain on the mattress, the blood crusted on the vinyl.

Welcome back, baby.

You keep your gaze on the ground, searching for something to bore your eyes into. Your eyes land on his shoes. Flecked with dirt, they bear obvious signs of wear. There’s a sizable hole in the toe of one of them. You focus in on that as he readjusts the collar, tightening the strap around your neck.

Embarrassment heats your cheeks as you hear him click the leash into place. Even without looking up at him, you can picture the expression on his face. It isn’t a good one. You still can’t decide if he looks more or less like himself when he screws his face up like that.

Tugging roughly at the leash, he forces you to look up at him. Wrists bound; your hands flex uselessly against your back.

“Please—”

Without warning, he sticks his fingers into your mouth, forcing them to the back of your throat. You choke, your hands flexing in panic behind your back. When he pulls them out, you cough, eyes watering.

“Now, normally I like hearin’ you, baby.” He says, smiling down at you. His face is a discordant thing. All American, boy next door. A slice of apple pie that someone put a cigarette out in. “But you know somethin’—”

He crouches down in front of you, still smiling. You watch him silently, shifting anxiously on your knees.

“I never did meet a dog who could talk.” Reaching over, he flicks at the metal ring on the collar. “Feels wrong.”

Dropping the leash, he gets to his feet, striding away. You crane your neck to the side as he rustles around behind you. After a moment, he lets out an affirmative grunt.

Quickly, you pivot your head back to the front. Making his way back to stand in front of you, your eyes flash to the item in his hands. Seemingly amused by your concern, he dangles it in front of you.

It’s a ball gag, shiny and black—noticeably a hair newer than the rest of the junk down here. Maybe he bought it just for you. It’d make a pretty lousy gift, but then again, he was always shit at stuff like that.

He had an incredible knack for getting you shit that you never asked for. Everything came with conditions, a laundry list of provisos and conditions that you didn't remember signing up for. Everything he gave you was actually for him.

“Open up, baby.”

Before you can think to do as he asks, his thumb forces your mouth open, pressing down on your teeth. You sputter as he forces the gag into your mouth, securing it around the back of your neck.

“That’s better, yeah?” He asks, grabbing hold of the leash again.

You stare up at him, exhaling tight bursts of air through your nose. You tilt your head a bit, working your jaw around the ball. Your teeth rest uncomfortably on the rubber.

“You been so good today, think we outta give that pussy some attention, huh?” He smirks. “Whatchu think?”

You whine, the noise coming out in an embarrassingly wet gurgle. Spit runs out of your mouth, dripping down your chin and trickling onto your neck.

“So cute.” His voice is syrupy sweet. He can play at authenticity, but never with you.

He kicks your thighs apart with his foot, nudging the tip of his boot between your legs. His eyebrows shoot up expectantly as he nods down at you.

“Go on, then.”

Disgust is an old friend. She disappears for months at a time, only to show up unexpectedly as if no time has passed. She’s back again, turning your stomach around in her hands. You tilt your hips down. Rubbing yourself against the tip of his shoe, you wonder if he’s doing this for old times' sake.

Rocking forward, you imagine a glossy magazine cover. You could see him on the cover of one. He does have the face for it, when he bothers to put it on.

Bored? 50 Ways to Keep the Spark Alive!

Your jaw is beginning to ache. Bo's hand strokes softly at the top of your head. You hate that the pressure against your clit almost feels good. Your mind unhelpfully supplies more article titles, bubbling up in your mind in obnoxiously curly lettering.

10 Mouth Exercises For The Modern Woman. Have You Tried Screaming? It’s All The Rage in This Town. Once You Start, You Won’t Want to STOP!

“That’s it.” He grins. “What a little slut.”

You look up at him pleadingly, another dribble of spit running down your chin.

“Always got told ya’ shouldn’t let dogs up on the bed.” He muses, the amusement plain in his voice. “But you been on your best behavior, huh?”

Last week, you fell asleep on the couch. You woke up somewhere else.

It was dark and you were pressed against something warm. Not the dog, not the light. Those were both gone. His jacket hanging off the side of the couch, maybe. But it was moving now, and so were you.

“Gotta getcha to bed.” He’d muttered, carrying you up the stairs.

You lay across Bo's lap, the side of your cheek against the dirty mattress. You shudder, your legs shaking.

“Pretty girl.” Reaching over, he tugs you up by the leash, forcing your head back.

Every breath you take seems to make your muscles clench around the plug in your ass. He works it in and out of you slowly and you gulp, shallow breaths whistling out of your nostrils. Every time you jolt forward you can feel him press against you, hard against your belly.

“Hey. What’s wrong, baby? That hurt?”

You nod frantically.

“Huh. Funny…'cuz I don't think it does. You wanna know how I know?” You feel him spread you open, fingers dipping into your pussy. “You’re wet for it, baby.”

He pushes the plug deeper, and your head spins at the sensation. A warbling moan pitches out of your mouth as you feel it sink fully into you. You shiver uncontrollably, whimpering around the gag. Saliva gathers on your tongue, and you feel it spill out of the side of your mouth, pooling under your cheek.

“Good.” He rumbles out, stroking his knuckles along your back. “That’s my good girl.”

You squeeze your eyes shut when you feel him nudge something between your legs. With a click, the vibrator buzzes to life. You let out a startled cry as he strokes it along your pussy.

“It’s nice, huh?” He chuckles. “Don’tchu act like I never gave you anything.”

The vibrator teases against your clit in short bursts, pressing down just long enough to leave you panting before he pulls it away. Almost enough, not quite. You arch back uselessly, chasing after that glittery warm sensation. He laughs a bit, holding the vibrator just above your clit.

You can feel the edge of pleasure, but it’s nothing more than a distant dull thrum. He keeps you hovering over it for what feels like forever, squirming over a feeling that’s hardly there. You bite down on the gag, your sob watery and muffled around the rubber.

“This body’s all mine, girl.” He murmurs, running his thumb down your spine. “I ain’t gotta make it feel good.”

With a hum, he rests the vibrator fully onto your clit. The sensation you’ve been chasing envelopes you, shimmering through your core. Nasally, high-pitched whines escape you in quick, desperate succession.

“But I do, don’t I? ‘Cuz I’m just so sweet.”

You open your eyes, staring up at him in bleary gratitude. He presses down on the plug. The discomfort has crested over and all you feel now is loose and pliant. You moan around the gag, your eyes fluttering.

“You like having somethin’ in your ass while I play with this pussy?”

And you nod, humming out your agreement.

“Mmm-hmm? Yeah?” He teases, mimicking your garbled reply. "That's good, baby. That's real good. Reckoned I’d fuck your ass today, but that pussy’s gettin’ nice and wet for me. Whatchu think? Which hole you want fucked?”

You mumble incoherently through the gag.

“All of ‘em?” He exclaims, the grin evident in his voice. “Well, ain’t that real sweet. Good answer, baby.”

He keeps talking, but it’s getting harder to focus on what he’s saying.

“Next crew that comes through here—maybe I’ll tell ‘em I got a slut who needs breakin’ in. You spread those legs so nice, sure you’d fuckin’ love it.”

The image flashes through your mind. Hands everywhere, laughter and heat and friction from a kaleidoscope of people destined for death. You’re in the middle of all of those faceless people—a tribute to be used up, one last meal for a parade of living corpses.

You’re all destined for the same end, but theirs is closer than they know. Yours is prolonged, tied around touches and salt.

Bo would be in the corner, lighting another cigarette—watching, because he’s always watching. Mouth twitching into a smile because he’s right again. You’re exactly what he thinks you are. You’ll keep your eyes on him because you can’t look at anyone else. After all, if it isn’t his hands, could you even feel it? Would it even count?

The panic is sudden and hot, twisting inside your chest. A desperate little whine builds at the back of your throat.

If I’m everybody else's, I can’t be yours.

“I’d have a hard time sharin’, though.”

Relief. The vibrator pulses against your clit and your eyes go unfocused.

“’S funny. Gotchu down here—and nobody knows.”

Between your legs, your pussy feels pathetically wet, sloppily sliding along the vibrator. You almost wish he’d keep you like this forever, jolts of pleasure lapping hungrily between your legs.

“If there’s even anybody out there lookin’ for ya’…” He muses. “Wish they could see ya’ now, huh? Don’t think they’d feel bad for you, baby.”

Pleasure rolls dizzily through you, electric licks of sensation as he rubs the vibrator against your clit. The rubber in your mouth is an anchor, it feels good on your teeth.

“Betchu thought you were really somethin’ out there.” He chuckles. “How’s it feel to find out you ain’t? Feels good, don’t it?”

You open your eyes and nod up at him, panting out your agreement. Through the haze, you see him smirk. It’s a cruel, cold thing. You’re all full and useless, but he doesn’t need you to say it, because he knows. Thoughtlessly, you shift in his lap, trying desperately to spread your legs wider for him.

“Nothin’ but a little fucktoy.” He coos. “That’s all you are, baby. Want you to remember that.”

He doesn’t need to worry. You remember everything, except what counts.

“Good girls cum, baby. They can’t help it.”

You’re hurtling higher and higher, the pleasure battering against your brain. That’s where the memories are, where the time used to be. It feels better to fill it with this. But then again, you’ve known that from the start.

“Go on, baby. Cum all pretty for me, yeah?”

And you do, a million times over.

He keeps the vibrator pressed firmly against your clit as you tense up, your hands clenching into tight fists behind your back. Your orgasm is a bone-deep shiver, wracking your legs with uncontrollable chills. The pleasure throttles through the last of your coherency, prizing a desperate noise from your throat. Maybe it’s a word. It might be his name. It might just be the time. Maybe this is how you find it again.

The buzz of the vibrator goes dim and far away as he holds it against you. You’re twitching somewhere above it. Each involuntary movement you make brings with it a new hiccup of sensation. Around you, the room seems to spin—whirling into a terrific blur of green and yellow.

It can be beautiful down here, if you squint.

When he lifts the vibrator off your clit, you pitch forward, warbling out a dizzy laugh behind the gag. You wait for the sound of the wand powering off. It doesn't come. Behind you, the buzzing is a low, incessant drone. You’ve barely managed to ground yourself when you hear it kick up a notch.

Click.

The sheets smell like all the thousand versions of you, each one answering questions she shouldn’t. Four walls surround you and they feel like they’re collapsing down on all sides. They could be made of plaster or stone, but they might just be something else. Your limbs, your heart, your mind, him. Separate appendages, but all linked. All part of the same crumbling structure.

A scream builds at the back of your throat as you feel him set it back on your clit.

“We ain’t done, baby.”

Your sleep is deep. Quiet. Only one dream.

Bo’s sitting on the edge of the bed, an inky blot in the gray morning light. He makes a move to stand up and you grab onto his arm.

“Go back to bed, angel.” He murmurs.

It almost sounds real enough.

When you wake up, you're alone. You try the door and find it unlocked.

Figures.

Upstairs, the shop is empty. There’s a can of unopened Coke on the counter. You crack it open and take a sip. Lukewarm bubbles of carbonation fizz over your tongue. God, he really was shit with gifts.

Walking up the hill, you catch your reflection in the window of a sedan. You look haggard, your hair a raggedy clump around your shoulders. You try the handle and it cracks open easily. Crawling into the dirty belly of the car, you wince as you lower yourself down into the seat. You sit with one leg dangling out, absentmindedly studying the dusty speedometer.

There are cars in other towns, parked on different streets. There are places without dust. There are always other futures. Sometimes you turn down the wrong road, and sometimes you die. Sometimes you don’t.

That’s just the way these things go.

You imagine the town collapsing in on itself like a pop-up book. There’s Bo, frowning down at it. He seemed like he’d been the type of kid that wasn’t allowed to check those kinds of things out from the library. He’d bring them back with pages ripped out, scrawled with pen marks. Pilled white card stock where faces used to be.

God, you’re miserably sore. It’s impossible to narrow down the ache to a certain part of you.

Lifting your leg into the car, you pull the door shut. The dust inside tickles your nose. Unthinkingly, you reach up, your fingers brushing against the metal buckle of the seatbelt. The sting is sharp and immediate. You pull your hand away with a hiss, your hand smarting. When you reach for the seatbelt again, you’re careful to avoid the clip.

You buckle yourself in. Click. Alive again, now more than ever. Wrapping your hands around the steering wheel, you close your eyes. The leather is hot against your palms, and it hurts a bit. Just a little. That’s just the pain again, but you don’t really mind. It’s something you can keep. It’s all yours.

Nothin’ you can’t handle, girl.

That’s what he said last night. Afterwards.

You were laying with your head in his lap, the itchy crust of dried spit against your cheek. It was then that you decided that you were so ugly that you had to be beautiful. You had to be worth looking at. You’d rolled over on your back, looking up at him through swollen eyes. That’s when he said it, so low and quiet that you almost didn’t register it. There’d been a an edge of pride to his voice.

Nothin’ at all.

A lick of pleasure thrums between your legs and your eyes flash open. You unbuckle the seatbelt and scramble out of the car, ignoring the pain that sings through your limbs.

Things like that? They always came with an or else tacked at the end. You remember that, don’t you? You couldn’t have forgotten.

Looming above you, the house is a dark blot of ink against the blue sky.

There were no collars for dogs in this town—they didn’t need them. They’d always find their way back home, pawing at the door for some scraps. The only leash is the one that exists in your mind. You can almost see it, trailing off your neck and up the hill, looped messily around the front doorknob.

You were going to die here with all that wetness between your legs, begging him to take out more of you with his teeth.

It's like he said.

You don’t need to tie up a dog if it loves you.

[hockybish]

i need all the jack and ava moments

“Jack, sit” Ava tapped the chair in front of her. She held up a pair of shears.

Jack knew what was coming. His guessed his hair was getting a little long, honestly he didn't mind it. But maybe it could use a little trim.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" He took his seat. Ava draped a towel over his shoulders and gave him a look as if to say 'are you serious right now'

"I'm just checking Aves. I just don't want an un even haircut or you to cut yourself with the scissors cuz you know those have to be pretty sharp to cut hair." Jack rambled on nervously.

"I know what I'm doing. I ran a little side business when I was in college where I cut people's hair. Made decent money." Ava brushed out his hair. She used the nearby spray bottle to get his hair wet.

"Isn't that like highly illegal or something?" Jack didn't know why he was so nervous about this. It was just a hair cut. No biggie.

Ava took a chunk of Jack's hair, flattening it with two of her fingers and cutting it straight across. She deemed it good and moved onto another chunk. "Not if you never get caught."

"Stop fidgeting Jack" She stopped what she was doing to give him another look.

"Okay. Okay. Just be careful." He let out the breath he had been holding. He let go of the tension that had been stored in his shoulders and relaxed into the chair.

Finally, Ava thought, now she could go to work and make his mop look good. She got back at it, sticking her tongue. She needed all her focus making sure she didn't mess it up. She didn't want his fans coming after her for a botched haircut.

After she was done drying his hair, Ava looked up and saw Jack still nervously watching her every move. She chuckled to herself, thinking of a prank she could play.

There were a couple of stray pieces she still needed to get so she opened her shears in a way that maybe them squeak and slowly closing them, cutting off the last bit.

"Shit" She mumbled.

"What? What happened?" Jack jumped. He scrambled to look behind. He was a little panicked to say the least. "Did you cut yourself? Did you cut me? Babe? What?"

He caught a glimpse of her holding her hand as if she accidentally cut herself. "Ava open your hand let me see." Ava held back her laugh as she did as she was told, revealing her perfectly fine hand.

"You should have seen your face. Oh man that was a good one." Ava continued laughing.

"No it wasn't. That wasn't funny." Jack pouted while his girlfriend gasped for air.

"Anyways, I'm done, what do you think?" She eventually caught her breath. She fluffed it a bit.

Jack stuck his bottom lip out in the famous Hughes pout, shaking his head. He grabbed at his and ran his fingers through it, feeling its length. The haircut was acceptable.

[9w1ft]

Man who would've guessed that in 2024 it would be the mainstream vaguely homophobic Swifties who are definitely by far going to be way more understanding and caring towards Taylor than Gaylors ever will be if Taylor comes out one day lmao

It becomes clearer and clearer by the day lol, at least a decent chunk of Swifties generally respect Taylor's humanity enough to not deny that TTPD is Taylor telling them straight to their faces that she's been deeply desperately in love with this one someone for the last decade despite their general distaste for the man they presume is the muse for TTPD, that's far more than can be said for the vast majority of Gaylors lol

what i do agree about is that when it comes to all of this there is definitely a venn diagram where there’s an overlap between all these camps and parts of each camp that will not intersect. it’s interesting to see the different places where we could imagine there being overlap where one might think it wouldn’t exist

back when joe was still a thing, there was a sort of shorthand meme way of speaking about part of this overlap, which i called “swifties 🤝 kaylors” where you could reblog things that swifties would say with that line! because there were times where swifties would say sentiments that were “accidentally kaylor” ie, in line with kaylors the only difference being that the muse was different. which is because toe mimicked the length and secrecy of kaylor. so you had a lot of gaylor or gaylor-adjacent camps that were like oh taylor is in a polycule, taylor keeps breaking up and getting back together with this that and the other thing. meanwhile kaylors were mostly like uh these songs are all telling a single story.

i get shades of that with matty too. just that the aspects of the kaylor relationship being mimicked are currently different.

it’s funny 😆

[william-m-lucipher]

RATING A FEW OF MY PUPPETS!

THEY ALL HAVE THEIR UPSIDES AND DOWNSIDES! HERE ARE MY OPINIONS ON A HANDFUL OF 'EM!

SIXER: MASSIVE AMOUNT OF BRAIN SPACE, FILLED WITH COMPLEXITIES! ALSO A GOOD CHUNK OF EMBARRASSING NERD MEMORIES. HIS MIND IS WHERE ALL THE LUXURY WAS!

BODILY EXPERIENCE WAS INTERESTING, HIS EYESIGHT WAS LACKING EVEN WITH THE GLASSES. IT SEEMS HE'D GONE A WHILE WITHOUT RENEWING HIS PRESCRIPTION. SURE, THE GLASSES LESSENED THINGS, BUT YEESH! ONE EYE WAS ALWAYS WORSE THAN THE OTHER, BUT THEY WERE BOTH IN BLURRYTOWN. TALK ABOUT A LACK OF DEPTH PERCEPTION! THE EXTRA FINGERS THOUGH, THEY WERE FUN! AND THAT GUY HAD A DECENT-ISH PAIN TOLERANCE THANKS TO THOSE OLD BOXING LESSONS HE AND HIS BROTHER WERE FORCED TO DO. IT WAS FUN TO TEST THE LIMITS!

A SOLID 8/10, GREAT GUY TO WORK WITH, POSSESSION EXPERIENCE COULD'VE BEEN BETTER THOUGH!

PINE TREE: BRAINWISE, LESS COMPLEXITY, MORE COMEDY, AT LEAST IN MY EYE! HE WAS A SMART KID, SURE, BUT MAN, RERUNS OF HIS LOWLIGHTS WILL KEEP ME ENTERTAINED FOR AGES. IMAGINE AN ACTUALLY FUNNY CRINGE COMPILATION THAT NEVER GETS OLD! THAAAAT'S PINE TREE!

AS FOR THE BODY, BETTER EYESIGHT, BETTER JOINTS, AND THE PAIN TOLERANCE WAS TERRIBLE, WHICH WAS GREAT FOR ME! IT WAS THE FIRST THING I NOTICED WHEN I TOOK THE STRINGS, HAHA! THOUGH BEING SWEATY, SMELLY, AND TICKLISH KINDA RUINED THE DELUXE SUITE FEEL. EH, WHEN DEALING WITH THE HUMAN BODY, THERE'S NO WAY TO HAVE IT ALL, EVER.

7/10, AT LEAST I'VE GOT A LOT TO LAUGH ABOUT.

HIRSCHEY: I THINK IT'S PRETTY OBVIOUS AT THIS POINT THAT I'VE BEEN PULLING THE STRINGS WITH FLANNELBRITCHES FOR A GOOD WHILE NOW. LONG BEFORE HE EVEN SECURED A ROLE WITH THE MOUSE, I'VE BEEN A SUBTLE INFLUENCE!

NOW LISTEN, I'D LOVE TO SPILL EVERYTHING, BUT THIS GUY HAS ALL THE RIGHT CONNECTIONS TO RUIN EVERYTHING IF I MAKE THE WRONG DECISIONS WHILE USING MY OTHER PUPPETS IN THIS REALITY. LET'S JUST SAY, HIS BODY IS MID, BUT HIS MIND ALONE ADDS EXTRA POINTS! I CAN'T EVEN BEGIN TO EXPLAIN, HAHA!

9/10, WHAT A GOOD FRIEND!

BURNSIDES: OH WAIT, I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO SAY ANYTHING ABOUT THIS YET! WINK! HAHA, COME BACK TO THIS POST FOR THE ANSWER ON SMOKEY'S BIGGEST FAN IN A FEW DAYS.

?/10, TO BE ANNOUNCED

EAS-Y: THE ONE I'M CURRENTLY USING! GONE BY SEVERAL DIFFERENT NAMES, BECAUSE THEIR MEAT SUIT IS LITERALLY STUFFED WITH SEVERAL DIFFERENT PEOPLE DUE TO CHILDHOOD TRAUMA, HAHA!! THE HUMAN MIND HAS SOME WEIRD COPING MECHANISMS. E.A.S STANDS FOR THE SILLY NAME FOR THEIR SYSTEM THEY PICKED ONE DAY ON A WHIM.

MY FAVORITE ONE HERE HAS TO BE ZILLARA, WHO I ONCE REFERRED TO AS "T" DURING AN APRIL FOOL'S EVENT ON THE SYSTEM'S ABANDONED ACCOUNT. (IT WAS SHORT FOR THE COLLECTIVE DEADNAME OF THIS VESSEL.) HE'S AN OLD HOST AND AN OLD PAL! Z'S BEEN SO... GENUINELY NICE TO ME FOR ALMOST TEN YEARS NOW. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH HIM?! HAHA!!! Ah... ENOUGH ABOUT JUST ONE GUY, THOUGH, THIS PLACE IS PACKED WITH EM! BUT THAT DOESN'T MEAN THEY DON'T HAVE WIGGLE ROOM. THIS MIND IS MORE SPACIOUS THAN PINE TREE AND SIXER'S COMBINED, BUT IT'S ALL BEING USED ON KEEPING FOLKS COMFORTABLE AND GUARDING HARMFUL MEMORIES. LISTEN, I'M NOT SALTY ABOUT THE MEMORY GUARDING. I TOOK A PEEK, AND JEEZ, IT'S DEFINITELY FOR THE BETTER.

ANYWAYS, THIS PLACE IS LAYED OUT LIKE A WHOLE SMALL TOWN! BEST VACATION HOME OUTTA ALL OF 'EM! AS AMAZING AS HIRSCHY'S IS, IT'S BUSY BUSY BUSY EVERYWHERE, ALL THE TIME. PARTIALLY MY FAULT FOR GETTING HIM INTO THE ANIMATION INDUSTRY. SORRY THERE, BUDDY!

THE DOWNSIDE TO IT ALL IS THAT EVEN THOUGH THERE ARE PLENTY WHO LIKE ME HERE, I'VE ALSO GOT A FAIR SHARE OF ENEMIES WHO CALL THEMSELVES "PROTECTORS" AND "GATEKEEPERS." NEVER UNDERESTIMATE THE POWER OF AN ANGRY SECRETARY LADY, LET ME TELL YOU!

BODY WISE, IT'S QUITE THE PAIN BUFFET! BAD JOINTS, MIGRAINES, LOW PAIN TOLERANCE, AND MAN, THE TICS AND SEIZURES! YOU'D THINK GIVEN MY EXPERIENCE WITH BODY SPASMS WHILE PUPPETING PINE TREE, I'D HATE THESE, BUT THIS IS DIFFERENT! IT'S SOME OF THE FUNNIEST PAIN, THE PUNCHLINE HITS YOU OUTTA NOWHERE, SEVERAL TIMES, IN SEVERAL DIFFERENT WAYS!

8.5/10, TALK TO YOUR PROTECTORS AND YOU MIGHT EARN THE FIRST 10, OR AT LEAST A 9.8!!!

IN SUMMARY:

- SIXER'S A DECENT PUPPET, BUT A BETTER ALLY. STILL A SHAME HE NEVER JOINED ME

- PINE TREE IS A PERSONAL COMEDY CLUB!

- HIRSCHEY IS A GREAT PUPPET, AND A POWERFUL ALLY WHO COULD EASILY BECOME MY WORST ENEMY

- I'M UNDER NDA ABOUT GUS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE

- EASY HERE IS, WELL, THE EASIEST ONE!!

MAYBE I'LL RATE A FEW MORE SOMETIME, LIKE CHARLES GUITEAU, OR WITH LUCK, YOU!

[reborrowing]

Pocket Guides to Zombie Survival, Ch 2

First/prev | holyyy shit this took too long im sorry! especially since a chunk of it is recycled from the first attempt. but I think I'm happy with it cw fear, injury, dehumanization typical of gt first meets wordcount: 3.5k

The man outside didn’t even have a pulse.

Pepper had been right on his wrist. She’d leaned against his cold flesh for better leverage as she unfastened the corpse’s watch. He didn’t bleed when her needle stuck into his skin, nearly as deep as her forearm was long. Even on a human, that should’ve hit some kinda blood vessel, right? He smelled like dead meat. He was undeniably dead, right up until he’d got up and almost crushed her.

She was still shaking as Bell dragged her up into the RV’s engine compartment. It was scary enough to try and imagine what could’ve killed a giant so gruesomely and scarier still to find out that humans could keep going even after death.

Bell poked around for the way into the RV cabin, hoping it would have good supplies and a decent place to rest. Pepper would rather take refuge in the labyrinthine machinery. The adrenaline of the moment was wearing thin and she knew she was going to be less than useless once she could feel all her injuries. This place felt safe enough to catch their breath, at least. The not-dead man wasn’t trying to follow them and he hadn’t thought to open the engine hatch to try and snatch them out. 

Instead, he banged against the RV walls over and over again, with terrifying force. It was strong enough to leave the metal shell shaking. If he had hit her with that kind of power, she wouldn't have a broken foot, she’d be lucky to be left with a boot full of bloody paste. They had a hiding place, he wasn’t getting in, and she saw no reason to ruin it by poking around inside.

But Bell was the one who could still walk so she was the one calling the shots. She was in her element, she insisted, with humans as her area of expertise, but Pepper thought that was a load of shit. Bell knew about humans’ things and how they acted on a normal summer evening. This was well beyond what either of them knew.

Bell cut through a thick, zig-zagged wall of cotton with a glass shard and into a bin full of human junk so common it almost seemed familiar. Papers on top of papers, rough brown napkins, clicker pens, a metal beamlight, and a plastic first aid case that Bell pointed out way more smugly than was necessary.

“I don’t need bandaids, I need you to help me put my shoulder back together,” Pepper griped.

She slumped into a wad of napkins stacked up by the far wall. They weren’t as soft as she’d been hoping, but more comfortable than bare plastic. She stretched out her leg to give her busted-up foot a rest, at least, and watched Bell puzzle out the plastic locks on either side of the case.

“Isn't this the third time you got it popped like that? Can’t you do it yourself by now?” Bell asked over her shoulder.

“It hurts!”

“Shh, I was kidding, sorry. Just too freaked out to—” she swallowed the rest of her sentence and waved her hand vaguely towards her face. “Express. Not funny anyways. There’s probably Tylenol or something in here, just give me a minute to get this stupid thing open, and—”

The RV shook with an especially hard hit from the not-dead man and in the quiet that followed, heavy footsteps shuffled across the interior of the RV. They were getting closer. Pepper went stiff, but Rei kept prying at the plastic clasp. She didn't hear—probably couldn't, with her lousy ear—and her back was turned so Pepper couldn't give her a visual signal to please shut up.

There was a click overhead followed by a blinding light as the wall gave out behind Pepper and sent her tumbling down towards the carpeted floor. She fumbled for her fish hook to latch herself onto the mountainous chair in front of her before she could get grabbed. The grapple successfully bit into the fabric, but with only one arm to hold on with, and a lot of pain to work through, she was easily knocked loose from her line. She landed stunned on her back right in front of the giant’s boot and whimpered. Bell was too far away to save her this time.

Pepper flailed in an attempt to get away, to get anywhere, before the new giant could reach her. She didn’t even make it half an inch before a shadow dropped over her. She looked up in horror as the giant jabbed at her with a skinny metal club and knocked her back to the ground. The thin metal of her armor went concave and Pepper gasped for breath, expecting it to be her last, but the giant stopped as soon as they had her pinned. Pepper squirmed helplessly against the rubber stopper that threatened to cave in her chest.

The human’s eyes were as brown and mean as a hawk’s and made Pepper’s heart raced just the same. But a hawk was almost a guarantee that something was about to die. Humans were unpredictable. Already it was the opposite of the giant outside—precise, with a light touch, but more than enough to hold her down. And they could kill her just as easily as the other one.

It shook her with the kind of thrill she’d usually celebrate, but it was hard to be excited about danger when so few of her limbs were working. She couldn’t fight or flee, just lay there at the giant’s mercy as the pain swelled and tried to take over more and more of her thoughts.

They adjusted their grip on the club and knelt down for a better look at Pepper, catching her in a shadow like a falling tree. Even for a human, they—she, probably—was big: nice and fat and full-figured, like she’d never even heard of hunger. She leaned against the nearby chair as she lowered herself down onto her knees, and both the seat and her own bones groaned under the strain. 

For a brief second, Pepper recognized something in those eyes that looked more like fear than anger, but fear of what? Of Pepper? The dead man outside? He couldn’t even figure out how to open a door. Was he really so dangerous to even his own kind?

“Are you alive?” the giant whispered.

Before Pepper could put together an answer or even work up the breath to be heard, Bell jumped in with a hiss of her own. Pepper just barely saw her sister’s silhouette leap out from the glovebox before she got lost in a fresh black wave of pain. Her vision swam as the giant jerked backwards, briefly driving the end of her club harder against Pepper’s chest, squeezing the breath out of her. 

“No, no, no, get off, no,” the giant bleated.

But again, she was afraid, not angry.

They were equally dangerous emotions, except that fear could be soothed with something other than blood, assuming humans had emotions that worked like her own. And why shouldn’t they? They were supposed to be people, after all, just horribly big ones.

“S-stop,” Pepper wheezed, struggling to sit up.

It wasn’t loud enough, or maybe the giant didn’t care, or maybe she was just distracted by the idiot gremlin chomping on her finger. Unbelievable. Pepper watched, aghast, as the giant caught the back of Bell’s cloak and pulled her into the air. She didn’t have a chance to protest again as she flinched away from the giant’s boots shuffling around her, each more than large enough to crush her flat. She pushed back when something tugged on her good arm, even though it was pointless to try and fight the giant, only to get an annoyed hiss in response.

Oh.

Pepper went limp to let her sister drag her to cover once again. That pain was really catching up to her now though. Darkness swam at the edge of her vision as each step jostled her busted limbs. Pepper grimaced when she realized the best cover they could reach was beneath the seat right beside them. The clearance was low enough to the ground to seem safe, with a nice metal barrier to hide behind, but Pepper knew that it only meant they were cornered.

“I think I’m gonna puke,” Bell announced hoarsely.

“You’re gonna puke?”

Pepper dimly registered that the arms holding her were shaking before Bell dropped her. Her breath escaped in a hiss as she hit the floor. Coop warily eyed the gap they’d come in through. It might be too narrow for the giant to get her fat arm under. Maybe. Bell slumped to the floor next to Coop to take a breath. Like they had the time for that. (Like they had a choice.)

“No, that…that! Getting you away from it. I don’t know how you do that, jumping at predators. Like it’s nothing? I feel so bad. I think my guts are all gonna explode,” she whispered.

If Bell was hoping for sympathy, all she was gonna get was anger. Coop glared.

“I don’t! I don’t just attack wildly! You shouldn’t have done anything! How was that supposed to help?” Coop hissed.

“I panicked!”

“So you bit her? Are you a fucking shrew? You’ve got your whole bag of tricks and you use your teeth? Ghosts, Bell, you’re supposed to be smart! You’re supposed to be good at this!”

Coop lurched forward and swiped a glass shard from the elastic holster on her sister's leg. She waved it vaguely, gesturing at Bell and her oversized borrowing sack for a few brief seconds until she was too woozy to stay upright. Bell caught her before she could crash all the way back to the floor, then sat down beside her. 

“I’m good at not dealing with them,” she said.

Pepper pushed her sister away and pocketed the dagger. One of them could still leave, and then that one could warn everyone else back home that the dead man was still alive and he had company.

“Then don’t deal with it. Go. Get out of here,” Pepper said.

“I’m not gonna leave you with it! I’m not that—”

“It’s my job to die being stupid anyways, so long as it means someone else makes it,”  Pepper said.

“I’m not gonna let you die.”

Well, Pepper didn’t actually intend to die. She never had. But she wasn’t gonna pretend it wasn’t likely, either. She’d been on borrowed time for a long stretch of her life. Maybe even since she was born—she was the second twin. If only one of them was going to exist…

There was a series of uneven thuds as the giant got down on her knees to come after them. They should’ve stayed in the engine, where there were plenty of nooks to hide in and only a single giant that knew they were there, violent as he might be. He was stupid and at least sometimes dead. They could’ve taken a minute to at least put her arm back in place, so she didn’t have to worry about passing out every time she moved. They missed their chance to stick together.

“We don’t know that she’s gonna kill me. But she shouldn’t get to take you too,” Pepper said.

The floor creaked as shadow overtook the low entrance to their hiding place, abruptly ending the argument. The human pressed her face against the floor so she could peer in at her cornered prey. Weakly, Pepper shoved her sister away, but Bell stood her ground and cowered with her in the corner.

The giant’s hand slid forward, snaking into the cramped space. Pepper stared in horror as it approached. She’d hardly ever felt so helpless. The shadow was big enough to snatch up the both of them at once, and it was still just the giant’s hand. The rest of her loomed out of sight beyond the cover of the chair. 

Bell hissed and the giant froze. Her eye narrowed, then refocused on the relatively tiny scratch Bell had managed to inflict on her hand earlier. She pulled back a fraction of an inch and Pepper could see her biting down on her lower lip.

Scared.

“Go away!” Bell yelled.

The giant swore at them. Pepper closed her eyes. She couldn’t do anything but wait for the human to lash out and grab her—or just crush her. But no blow came. The floor creaked and the giant retreated. 

“That…that’s what you do, right?" Bell said, in between gasps that could be either laughter or crying. "You just…scare stuff off and hope they don’t call your bluff?”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Pepper said. Humans were smarter than that.

“That shouldn’t’ve worked, no,” Bell agreed. “Ghosts, oh, let’s get out of here before she comes back.”

Pepper nodded and leaned back up against her sister. But she couldn’t bring herself to join in her sister’s relief. This whole thing was wrong. The man outside, and now this scared woman that none of the scouts had even noticed. It wouldn't be that easy to get away.

Sure enough, the giant came back not a minute later, certainly not long enough for Bell to find a good escape to run towards. The shadows deepened and the hand returned and this time the giant wasn’t deterred by simple shouting or hissing or desperate crying. The fingers battered against the two smallfolk.

Bell's hands slipped away just before the hand found its mark. She was gone before Pepper could change her mind about wanting to be left alone with this thing. The leather-clad fist closed against Pepper and her broken limbs so hard and so fast that she blacked out before she could see what the giant might do to her.

—

Miserable as she was, Kayla was still fairly certain she wasn’t ready to die. Surely, someone who wanted to die wouldn’t have sacrificed Tasha in order to save their own life. So she kept going, even with Nick’s corpse pounding on the walls.

He knew she was in here. It might be the only thing he knew, based on how he acted. There wasn’t enough of him left to think to target the door or the windows. His assault was uncoordinated and random and entirely determined to get to her. Most of the windows had been reinforced or boarded up entirely anyway. Kayla hoped that he’d give up and collapse back to the ground before he made his way in, so she could continue to waste away inside rather than out.

She grabbed a duffel bag that had been prepared in advance, full of the most essential supplies and darted for the cab. In a better world, one where she had an ounce of luck left, that bag would have the keys so she could just drive away. But no. This had been Nick’s camper and his corpse still had the keys.

So instead of making an escape and taking the fortress with her, she ducked down and tried to wait him out. If (or when) Nick got in, she’d run. It was a terrible plan. It didn’t even deserve to be called a plan. She had nowhere to go and no way to get there and she was pretty sure that if the zombie could get in the RV it would be able to get back out and right to chasing her and her fucked-up knee. But it was the best course of action she could think of, unless she wanted to just give up and die.

And now there was…something else to deal with. Two of them. She didn’t know what to make of the little creatures that had already found their way inside.

They looked like people, or something that had been people at one point. They were about the size of mice, with tails and creepy reddish eyes to match, and dressed in patchwork trash. The first one had moved in uneven lurches like the dead but had watched Kayla like it still had thoughts in its head. 

The one had bit her.

She flung it away as quickly as she could. It landed at her feet and snarled before grabbing the other one to disappear beneath the passenger seat. Kayla rebalanced herself and took several seconds to try—and fail—to figure out just what was going on. Were they connected to the zombies? Or were they something else altogether and in need of help as just badly as she was?

She heard them whispering once she got close, so softly that it was no more understandable than leaves rustling in the breeze. No more understandable than a zombie’s mindless babbling.

Their eyes glowed from beneath the passenger seat when she knelt down to look. She reached out towards them and one of them hissed. Kayla recoiled. She was bleeding from the bite, she realized. The little freak had broken the skin. She swallowed, feeling suddenly starved of air. It would be unwise to grab at them with bare hands again.

How stupid was she, anyway? She should have already been wearing her gloves, for when she needed to run. There was no place for bare skin in a zombie apocalypse. If she died, she wanted it to be definite enough to be permanent, even if that meant it would be more painful.

She reached under the chair. Kayla wasn’t quick enough to catch both of the strange intruders, but one went limp as her hand closed around it. The other disappeared around the other side of the seat and she didn’t manage to see where it ran off to. She backed out of the cab before it could try attacking her again.

She flinched each time Nick hit the wall. If he managed to break even a small hole somewhere in the structure, he’d catch her smell and really work himself up into a full frenzy to get at her. But first, the little bite. She might as well use clean water to flush it while she had the chance. She just had to move quickly, so she could get back to cowering by the doors.

Still, Kayla got distracted looking at the creature in her hand. Up close, she was almost certain the little thing was a person. Probably female, though certainly not a human one. Even ignoring size, she had big, hairy ears and a long tail that hung limply off Kayla’s palm. The poor thing was half-curled up and unconscious, but gasped when poked at, so Kayla knew she wasn’t dead yet. She was hurt badly though, with her arm at a nauseating angle and one foot lying in a similar position. It was well beyond what Kayla knew how to treat, especially at such a delicate, tiny scale. Hopefully, that was the only reason she had been moving so erratically—pain, not death.

For now, Kayla grabbed a rag and set both it and the strange girl in an emptied protein bar box, then set about treating her own injury. She really hoped that the girl was only hurt, not infected, and that she could wake up and talk with her, maybe even tell her what was going on. But if not, Kayla could at least see if the creature stayed dead so she could gauge how worried she should be about the second one running free. Or maybe they weren’t as intelligent as they looked and the other would just chew on some wires and electrocute itself like some common rodent. That could solve a problem. Or start a fire, but that probably would still be better than undying. Not the solution Kayla wanted, but a solution nonetheless.

It might not matter anyway. The bite on her hand, however small, burned. She flushed it, cleaned it, but she had no way to tell if it was infected. She had no idea what she was looking at, save for a mysterious bite from a mysterious maybe-person. She couldn’t help but think that they would have missed something this small when they were looking for a bite on Markus. She bandaged it and took the girl back to the front of the RV. There was no sign of the biter, and Kayla was best to be ready to evacuate from the known danger than occupy herself too much with an unknown one. Her chest twisted with fear and uncertainty.

In the movies, people always got to know what was going on with the undead. There was a helpful vet or scientist or at least some regular broadcast that could break things down for the rest of the survivors. Kayla only knew what she had been forced to witness, and that wasn’t much at all, certainly not this.

The world as she knew it had ended, but it hadn’t stopped changing. If only it would change into something nicer for once.

—

tagging: @whumpsday @da3dm

it's been so long, I'm really sorry if someone asked to be added to the taglist and I forgot, please let me know if you want to be (re)added!

[revserrayyu]

2.4 Xianzhou continuance thoughts [part 2]

**SPOILERS** for everything up until entering the Shacking Prison, so as always, read at your own discretion if you haven’t reached this part of the story yet. Fair warning that I may mention some things that happen inside the prison as well, but hopefully not much. Sorry not sorry in advance for me obsessing over Feixiao.

As much as I adore Jiaoqiu’s character, I’m currently debating on pulling for him. After testing him out a bit inside the Shacking Prison, I realized I don’t really have a team that would suit him best? Of course I plan to pull for Acheron in the future but I might just hold off for now so I can save even more for Feixiao. I do hope these two and Moze have a good team synergy though. They seem like such a tight group and I’d love to use them all on a team one day.

Tee-hee, One Piece mention. Random, but I’m such a fan of Jiaoqiu’s fancy braid.

Noooo, I don’t like that her unknown medical issue can’t be healed! I mean, it’s not unheard of that Bailu pretty much said the same to Jingliu, about how bizarre it was and how there wasn’t much she could do to help. I don’t believe Feixiao to be mara-struck though, or at least I hope not. While this quest continued on the thought of her transforming into a Borisin came to mind a couple times but I have my doubts. I haven’t delved deep into any leaks about her lore so I can only speculate at this point. Even if those deaths in Penacony were fake, I don’t need any more to happen here, please.

Good boy!! Keep your promise! Heal this queen! I beg of you! I won’t lie, him being so dedicated to keeping his promise (which I’d love to hear the backstory of) to her sorta kinda flips a little switch off in my head saying “ship,” and I’m on board.

Been chatting about this a lot with others, but the question as to why Feixiao has no tail despite being a Foxian is interesting. I personally assumed that the lack of a tail was a result of some harsh battle where she got badly injured, but even with this brief flashback, it doesn’t appear that one is visible here either. Maybe she lost it before this fight? Or perhaps she never had one? Could not having a tail be the cause of her condition? Or was it really taken off from her? I haven’t a clue and it’s another reason why I’m so fascinated by her. Hopefully 2.5 sheds some light upon her past, or at least her character stories once she becomes playable.

Here’s another moment where the whole Borisin transformation idea popped into my head, especially after seeing how capable they are with shape shifting. Learning that the Foxians and Borisin share a common ancestor, the idea changed to Feixiao possibly being half and half? If so, then the condition she’s suffering from might be the Moon Rage? Similar to what we experience when fighting the Borisin down in the Shackling Prison. Add Bailu’s comment about “enjoy some tasty food” and how hungry Hoolay was too.. hmm. Doesn’t help he and Feixiao both have white fur. With how much the Foxians detest the Borisin, keeping this part of herself hidden would but ultimately stressful and probably taxing on her physical and mental health.

Moze is just.. so unironically funny. We have this heavy conversation happening and he chooses to cling to something so simple a food, which is fair. Food is always a good thing.

When Feixiao mentioned she was going to meet up with an old war friend, no alarms rang in my head telling me that it could be another Foxian that I enjoy, which is a shame but also wonderful because the surprise of her and Yukong being friends was worth it. 30 years might not seem like a long time for them, but it’s a decent chunk for people like us.

And yet so much has happened during those years for them. The time does throw me through a loop though.. I always imagined that Yukong lost Caiyi and gave up flying so much longer ago? Because then Qingni (Yukkong’s adopted daughter) couldn’t be much older than 30, right? Caiyi had just returned from maternity leave before she lost her life and Qingni never even knew of her real parents until the events of Yukong’s companion mission. I dunno, I’m just surprised. I definitely thought the daughter was older than that and the tragic loss in Yukong’s life happened ages ago.

Everyone give your utmost praise to Jiaoqiu right now for keeping our gorgeous general alive!

For real though, what on earth even happened to Jingliu and Luocha? like they both showed up in the Shackling Prison at the end of the main Xianzhou story alongside Jing Yuan, but stuff also happened in Jingliu’s companion quest at Scalegorge Waterscape where Luocha was sent away with some Cloud Knights before Jingliu’s fight with Blade where the quest just sorta ends there afterwards. My memory is terrible and I’m not entirely sure which order these events play out, but whatever they’re up to, they’ve been awfully quiet. With how often Jingliu’s name is brought up later on, it gives me small hopes that she could return in the later half of the story. Wouldn’t that be nice to see her take down Hoolay again?

Poor Jing Yuan can’t catch a break with these accusations. This entire quest also feels like the first time I’m hearing so much of this Marshal, but I’m certain it’s just my memory failing me. The main story of the Xianzhou wasn’t my favorite mission out of the bunch, but I am enjoying this one, surprisingly.

I do love the bond these women share with each other. Yukong asks about the Alliance’s plan regarding Jing Yuan and Feixiao graciously provides answers knowing that Yukong can keep a secret. Respect! You love to see it!

Suddenly, the Prisoner of Deep Confinement relic set makes sense to me. I never really took the time to look into the details considering how little DOT units I actively use, but it’s pretty cool to see where the inspiration for it came from and it actually being worn like this.

Now when “Whistling Flames” was mentioned, I first thought of that ghost ship Yukong saw at Fyxestroll Garden for reasons I’m not entirely sure of, but after some light searching, it’s apparently the guild Tingyun was part of?

It sweet to know that Yukong still hasn’t given up searching for clues about Tingyun might actually alive, but if Ruan Mei somehow found Tingyun first, I dunno if I should be relieved or concerned considering our crazy scientist had a habit of.. experimenting.

With how much chatter the Wardance received from trailers and livestreams, I’m honestly shocked that there isn’t much about it happening in the story? It may be because I’m hyperfixating on Feixiao and everything else much more, but my interest isn’t nearly as piqued as I thought it would be. I haven’t done that one side quest revolving around March so I assume there’s more to it there, but so far her sword training arc seems more of a background story. I did find it cute how both her masters gave her gifts at the start, with Yunli providing her new outfit and Yanqing crafting the swords, of course.

Yo, generals! Come pick up your kids! They’re still arguing about nonsense!

And you’re both adorable with your pink hair. Now be friends!

I have a sneaking suspicion that this man could very well poison someone if he wanted to.

I don’t remember much about this brief scene.. something about Yanqing’s doubts and the obstacles he faces or whatever, but it was pretty.

Moving a highly dangerous criminal out of prison to somewhere else? Surely nothing will go wrong! And definitely not right before you make your own move either! That would be crazy.

To no ones surprise, things do eventually take a turn for the worst, but that’s all to be discussed next, so have this, because why not:

Because I clearly haven’t obsessed over her enough already. No way.

[elkian]

I've probably said this before, but I absolutely love the Body Improvement Club in Mob Psycho 100, both in general and in what they bring to the story.

Early in the series, we're introduced to the Telepathy Club, essentially a hang-out gang for three disaffected tweens (their fourth member having just quit), only one of whom cares at all about telepathy for real. Lacking appropriate numbers, they're at immediate risk of losing their club room space. Enter Shigeo (Mob) who has actual psychic powers.

Ultimately the story closes with the Body Improvement Club taking the clubroom, but since they're constantly jogging, lifting, etc., they graciously allow the remaining Telepathy Club members to use the space.

Sidenote: I've seen a very interesting point about how Tome's motivations and inner monologue are given way more space than all of the BIC's combined, because she's trying to scam Shigeo while the BIC is just chillin', and Shigeo volunteers to join them unasked. Anyways, the focus here is on the buff bois.

The Body Improvement Club is full of unfeasibly jacked middle-schoolers, and one would be forgiven for assuming it's chock-full of stereotypical jocks. However, the BIC is actually full of nascent himbos. Every member of the club is constantly decent (if a little skewed in perceptions due to the Gainz being their core focus). This is really refreshing, especially with how they interact with Shigeo.

Shigeo starts the series as, well, a boilerplate bonafide wimp. He has no muscle mass, faints after a couple meters of sprinting (whether he actually has anemia or if that was a catch-all that didn't translate is uncler to me), can barely lift one of the smallest weights, etc. He starts out as the standard psychic minmaxer - absurdly powerful PSI, wet tissue body.

In fact, we only encounter a handful of psychics who have any physical prowess, and at least two of them (Teru, and the muscle dude from the mid-Claw arc) are implied or explicitly using their psychic powers to bolster their phsyical body.

(Sidenote, this is why Serizawa fanart of him being jacked is so damn funny to me - he went from stagnant shut-in to VIP in the Psychic Power Is The Only Thing That Matters Gang. When, exactly, was he hitting the gym?)

Shigeo doesn't, according to a significant chunk of the cast, need anything except his ESP. It's ridiculous for him to start weight training and jogging when he could just use his brain boost to do it!

And I think that's a big part of why I like the Body Improvement Club and their involvement in the series so much. Because MP100 is a story about becoming more than the lottery of birth, pushing yourself and improving yourself and learning to connect with other people.

And Shigeo not only improves his physical body by participating in the club, but constantly exemplifies this core theme by doing so.

(And in the epilogue he is 200% beef with his normal head on top, it's hilarious.)

But the real kicker here is how the other tweens in the club treat him. Because the "Improvement" part of "Body Improvement Club" is not tacked on for show. Every time Shigeo makes any kind of milestone, the entire club celebrates him. They are completely genuine in this, celebrating his accomplishments just as much as he is. It's not only endearing, but extremely encouraging, and not just to Shigeo. Watching a kid who struggled to pick up a gallon of milk become super buff in the end is funny, yes, but it's also a great way to end the seres. Not only did his effort matter, but his effort was recognized by the people around him.

Hell, in essence, I've just predicted the Separation Arc (spoilers) - because while there's multiple elements involved, what I remember really kicking this off is Reigen dismissing Shigeo's social life - something he has absolutely struggled to achieve at all. Something that, in the beginning, Reigen was supposed to be teaching Shigeo to improve at.

That isn't this post, though. My point is the Body Improvement Club.

ONE could have written the BIC as standard jocks whose encouragement was sarcastic or outright cruel, but he refused to take that easy route and instead made them a major element in Shigeo's growth. The message of the Body Improvement Club is the message of the series as a whole, in a way - that the effort one puts in (with the help of a good friend of five) matters much more than whatever you were born with. That striving to improve is essential to life, and worthwhile friends will celebrate your accomplishments. The Body Improvement Club is full of boys who are already tough and strong, but every single one of them praises Shigeo for his progress, no matter how it might compare to their own.

And I mentioned that Shigeo is buff in the epilogue, but I think it's worthwhile to note that this isn't just a visual gag. His buffness is revealed as he's discussing the trajectory of the club with one of the other members, in the next school year - and the other member acknowledges that the presence of the then-small, skinny, weak Shigeo had a useful effect on the image of the club. Because there was more than just a wall of beef already there, tentative newcomers could feel more secure in joining and improving theirselves, as was the club's goal. It's difficult to join a group of people you perceive as way more talented than you already - Shigeo's noted obliviousness to unspoken trends is actually a huge boon here, as it helped him volunteer without thinking this. But it wouldn't have been possible for him to improve without the goodwill of his peers.

Anyways, I love the Body Improvement Club and will never shut up about it, goodnight.

[entropicbias]

It’s not totally founded but I just read this (https(://)sonichu(.)com/cwcki/DIRTY,_CRAPPED_BRIEFS) for the first time (never knew anything about any of it until now, looked it up to understand a reference) and holy shit I think a decent chunk of the idea of the trolls in homestuck and a lot of the writing style especially of Karkat = these guys, specifically the BILLY MAYS/Clyde Cash personas. Is this just some common knowledge I missed? Is this controversial? I have no idea & I really want to know

i wish i got normal asks, like, about my day and what video games i like. why can't you guys ask me about my awesome life and my thoughts on things that aren't chris chan shitting himself and how that correlates with homestuck. i mean, this is actually pretty funny so i'm not complaining that much. but you approached me like i'm some homestuck historian.

no, man. at least in my space, this isn't common knowledge. i've never even seen anyone talk about this in specific before. like, i'm sure chris chan's trolls could've been an inspiration to hussie. maybe he spoke about it somewhere once. hell if i know.

but, even then, i read that and i honestly don't know. this kind of sounds like karkat, but karkat-esque dialogue can be found in a lot of different things. because he is probably the most basic personified internet troll. all he does is yell grotesque things and have a 'high ego'. this is a really common trait with a lot of people online. and i'm not sure if this specific persona applies to most of the other trolls. it's just kind of karkat-like.

maybe ask around so i don't have to be the only human being graced with reading this ask and also in case someone actually picked up on this like you and is willing to pop a stim talking about it. hehehe.

thank you for the ask, albeit strange!