#cyoa fic

[dirigibleplumbing]

my 15x18 choose your own adventure fic is nearly halfway done! I'm hoping to post part 1 sometime in the next week or so. in the meantime, here's the cover! there's even a back cover, too.

[meowmeowriley]

Changes: A Poll-Fic

(Cheeky link to ch. 2->) Ch. 2

"Remember, you're not supposed to be here, so don't do anything stupid." Love you too, Price. The Captain had caved. He'd been begging to be part of this mission since they'd gotten the lead.

Soap reached up, rubbing his gloved fingers across the teeth of his mask. The mask he'd stolen from Ghost's room. Gaz had found him clutching it, dried mixture of tears and bile coating his cheeks, and forehead pressed to the porcelain throne. He'd been banned from drinking for the foreseeable future. That was the only stupid thing he'd done. Ghost wore a mask, Ghost only spoke when he had to, Ghost was hard on the rookies, and nobody questioned his mental state. But they did, didn't they? Well Soap didn't. And nobody needed to question Soap, he was fine.

"I wanna be like you when I grow up."

"You wanna be better than me, Johnny."

Well to be better than him, first he had to be more like him. So he'd donned Ghost's mask, to better embody the man's stoicism and presence. Definitely not as a way to hide his chapped cheeks and the bags under his eyes. He'd painted it red, wore a jaw print bandana. Different. Better. Yeah.

Price had finally caved to Soap's insistence he be part of this OP, but issued his warnings. "I know you don't need to be told, but I'm saying it anyway." He'd warned. "They've had him for eight months. Torture changes people, he may not be the same."

Of course he wasn't going to be the fucking same. He didn't need to be the same, he just needed to be alive.

Ghost never really spoke about his past, only left little hints here and there, but Soap wasn't dumb. He'd been through it before. Ghost could handle the torture, and Soap could handle the aftermath.

"I'm fine." He finally answered. "It'll be by the books, Captain." As if anything they did was ever 'by the books.' Price accepted his answer, though he didn't look convinced. It was just the three of them, with Laswell listening in. Gaz was in charge of collecting data on the bio weapon that was rumored to be here, Soap was in charge of the search and rescue mission, and Price was overwatch as the two Sergeants made their way in.

The trio hopped out of the truck, and Price slapped the side, sending it away. Soap and Gaz nodded to one another before splitting up to approach the building from different angles. Price silently made his way to higher ground.

The trek was agonizing, moreso because Soap found himself feeling more impatient than usual. Every time he had to lay low and wait for a patrol to pass he could hear the sand slowly falling, trickling away in the hourglass that was the rest of Ghost's life.

"You sure know how to keep things interesting, Johnny." Ghost had smiled at him, rare that he didn't have his mask, but then again, who other than Soap would challenge the Ghost to strip poker? And who other than Soap would cheat be really really good at strip poker? So good as to force Ghost to choose between his pants and his mask, the last two articles of clothing he had on. Soap himself had only one sock, and his jumper on, choosing to doff his pants so he could keep access to the cards in his sleeves. The  unpleasant cold of the metal chair against his junk was worth it, just to see the surprising decision on Ghost's part to lose the mask and not the underwear.

"Aye, like to shake things up, Sir." He'd said with a wink as he laid yet another winning hand down, only slightly supplemented by his sleeve stash.

He was certainly always one to shake things up. Here he was, itching to shake that damn hourglass up. He'd shake it, flip it upside down, bash it over someone's head and stuff the sand down their fucking throat, if it meant he'd get more time with the enigmatic phantom that had haunted his mind since that shitshow in Mexico.

Price gave the signal, they crawled forward once more.

"This is takin' longer than a constipated snail takin' a shit." He grit out into comms once the coast was clear.

"Soap, while it's nice to hear your voice again, one more quip outta you and I'm pulling you. Watch it." Laswell had gotten the cold shoulder, she'd fed Ghost bad intel. He blamed her, he didn't, couldn't blame her. She was just as worried. Probably.

He just needed to get Ghost back. Repay his debt. Ghost had saved him back then, after all. That's what this was. An eye for an eye, but in a positive way. They were good for eachother. Fixed eachothers problems. Complimented one another, personality wise. That's all.

He crept into the building, silent and unnoticed.

They didn't have much on the layout, just the outer perimeter, so they were going in blind. That didn't bother Soap, he was thriving for the first time in months. He finally had something to do other than run the rookies into the ground.

He dodged patrols, picked off the ones he could get away with had to, using the knife he'd kicked so long ago after Ghost had left it behind.

He found some unlit stairs leading into a basement they hadn't known existed. If I were keeping an incredibly dangerous prisoner, now where would I keep him? Three sets of teeth, plastic, cloth and bone, were bared towards the darkness. He couldn't help it, he felt giddy. He tried to quell his excitement, didn't need to make any mistakes now.

He made his way, thankful for his NVG's as there were no lights, even after descending the stairs. The hallway he entered had doors along one side, nothing much in the rooms, but he cleared each one as he passed. No fuck ups.

Near the end, he found a door with seven locks. Suspicious. Good. Suspicious was good, here. The other doors had been wood, dry rotted and deteriorating, this one was metal.

His eyes itched. He flipped up his NVG's.

Curiously, whenever he blinked, Soap could've sworn he could see symbols on the door, but they'd disappear the longer he looked. He'd blink, a sickening yellow circle with lines and symbols within would appear just as he opened his eyes, but faded so quickly, he couldn't convince himself it had ever even been there. The harder he stared the more the door looked perfectly normal, if you ignored all the locks.

Many many thanks to @stuffireadandenjoy for brainstorming with me on how to make this poll fic work, and to @resident-idiot-simp for being my beta, as always ❤❤❤

(Cheeky link to Ch. 2->) Ch. 2

[mottinthepot18]

Chapter 11. Jar

[millenniumcomics]

Today I'm not in a good mood, but Atem pecking Seto cheered me up a bit.

Also, let me introduce to you "The Last Duelists"

I'm currently working on a nice project, and Aibou is illustrating. Meanwhile, Yamis and Jonouchis are betaing making their way through 350 mini-chapters of an oldstyle Choose Your Own Adventure fanfiction.

We set the release date for the 30th of September but I really hope we can be faster with both beta-ing, coding, (Because yes, you'll have to make them duel!) translating and illustrating.

For now, I leave a sneak-peak (Is it how it's called?) down here and totally hope to share more as the work is progressing through duels, death illustrations making me cry, banters, and more.

I really hope someone will love playing this as much as we are enjoying creating it, but I'm confident: someone will.

[ink-and-dagger]

DRINK WITH ME - The Virgin AU

Part 3:4 - AO3 Link

Read on AO3 first ⇧⇧⇧

Then cast your vote below the cut ⇩⇩⇩

(No peeking!)

(I mean it!!)

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3:1 || Part 3:2 || Part 3:3 || DWM Masterlist🥃

Big thank you and sloppy kiss to @juniper-sunny for beta reading <3

[withacapitalp]

The Backrooms

Read it on ao3 instead!

Okay so I'm going to start this part with a little bit of background! This is going to be a CYOA style fic EVENTUALLY but for now it is a reader driven CYOA. I have the whole thing laid out and over half written and I will be updating every three days until we go through all of the reader choices! You can either vote on ao3 in the comments or on Tumblr at this poll! Now that all of that is taken care of....Welcome to the Backrooms :)

-------

I’m gonna die. 

I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die-

Holy fuck I’m going to DIE. 

Eddie rounded another corner, tripping over his feet and falling briefly to his hands and knees before scrambling back up as fast as he could, continuing to sprint at a breakneck speed. His lungs screamed in protest, years of smoking finally catching up to him as he literally ran for his life 

What was it that Chrissy had always said?

‘You shouldn’t smoke, Eds. It’ll kill you,’ 

God. Chrissy. 

Where the fuck was Chrissy?! 

The desperate thought was immediately drowned out by the sound of one of the creature’s behind him screeching in rage. 

No, it wasn’t smoking that was about to kill Eddie. It was those…things chasing him. 

He couldn’t worry about Chrissy right now. He had to focus on saving himself. 

Another grim wail, grinding on his ears and dangerously close. Just that disgusting sound was enough to give Eddie another boost of adrenaline, his mouth filling with the taste of iron as he ran. He had no way of knowing how long he had been racing through this hellscape, or how he had ended up here, but Eddie did know one thing. 

He was running out of time. 

The stitch in his side continued to grow, going from a throbbing pain to a white hot poker jabbing itself between his ribs. All those years of skipping gym class and sneering at jocks were mocking him now. 

A jock would probably survive this. 

A wild reckless part of himself wanted to collapse- just give up and let what was going to happen happen, but his base human instinct to survive forced his body forward, turning him blindly into another disgustingly yellow room. 

That was all he had seen since he landed in this godforsaken place. Yellow room, yellow room, yellow hallway, yellow room, and on, and on, and on. 

Maybe he was already dead, and this was what hell really was. There was a small part of his mind that was clinging to some semblance of sanity, and it kept thinking that if he could just get out of this room and through the next, maybe he could lose the monsters that were chasing him. 

But each doorway kept leading to the same yellow rooms. Over, and over, and over, and over.

Eddie risked a look backwards as he rounded yet another corner. He couldn’t see how many of the creatures were chasing him, but it looked like there was even more than before. They were some sort of mutant bats- ginormous disgusting creatures with fangs the size of his hand and glowing red demon eyes crawling on the floor, the walls, even the damn ceiling. 

No. He couldn’t give up. He couldn’t let those things get him. At best, they would tear him to pieces. At worst….

Well Eddie wasn’t really sure what could be worse than that, but he didn’t want to find out. 

He just had to keep running. Eventually he would get somewhere new. Running was all he had to do, and that would be easy. He had spent his entire life running from bullies. These were just slightly more murderous evil monster bullies.

I can do this. It’ll be fine. I can do this. 

Then he tripped and went sprawling to the ground. 

Shit. 

The bats were on him in a second, grotesque slimy tails wrapping around each of his limbs and pulling him spread eagle. The fluorescent lights above him droned a death knoll as one of the bats curled up on his chest, letting out a soft snarl as its entire face opened up into rows and rows of jagged bloody teeth. 

Running wasn’t an option anymore. As far as he could see, Eddie only had two choices left. 

GIVE UP 

SCREAM

Poll

[jaeyleo]

LOCKS OR KEYS PART 10

YOU CHOSE: SEND PINK TO HENRIK’S HOUSE

NEW OBJECTIVE: BE GOOD FOR PSEUDO

Chase has been pushed to the back of the mind, you are now playing as Pink. His goals are to be as obedient as possible. What are yours?

Masterlist.

Tag list (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @skid-row-seymour @welcome-to-the-whumpfest @the9645archives

CWS: hypnotized whumpee, brainwashed whumpee, captivity whump, two caretakers (one being non human), mentions of a non human whumper, mentions of injuries and torture, scars, let me know if i should add more! also my apologies if there’s mistakes, its so late and i almost lost it to the tumblr void ;-;

. . .

Pink’s mind swims with hypnosis. Dizzy eyes blink open to stare at the ceiling, a groan suppressing the nausea in his stomach. Everything in his body aches and burns and weeps in agony, but he cant be bothered with the physical discomfort. All he can remember is Pseudo’s test for his loyalty, and wonder where he is now. When he gets to go home.

His eyes fall from the ceiling to the dresser in front of him. He’s in a bedroom, and he’s tucked into bed, but he isn’t sure who it belongs to. He keeps observing the room for more answers, turning his head to find a man sitting at the side of the bed.

He startles, breath stopping in his chest. He tries to sit up, but his injuries implore him to stay laying on his back.

“It’s alright,” the stranger coos. “You’re safe, Chase. You’re safe now.”

Pink frowns hearing his old name. Is he in trouble with the stranger, too?

He wants to correct the name, tell the stranger that he’s got it wrong. For a while he just stares, more occupied with feeling something familiar with the stranger. Something in his voice, or maybe its his face. He feels a pit in his chest, like he loves this stranger, or did love him. Tears blur his eyes and the stranger reassures him again that it’s alright.

Pink shakes his head. He wants to ask where Pseudo is, but the thought is drowned. He hears laughter in the back of his mind. Fondness and hugs and wrestling and this stranger teaching him how to play chess. He feels empty spaces in his head where memories used to be. The tears spill over his cheeks and he covers his face, feeling a deep, horrible ache inside his heart. He loved this stranger. He cherished this stranger. He missed this stranger. But why can’t he remember who he is?

The man beside him leans closer, holding his hand and trying to pull him out of his crying spell. Pink wants to open his eyes to look at him, but the thought of feeling that ache again makes him sick.

Who is he? Who is he?

“Chase,” comes the stranger’s voice, firm and guiding. “Look at me.”

A string is pulled. The puppet obeys the command, and his lip quivers as the pain stabs into his chest. He wants to look away, but he can’t.

“You’re safe. You are safe. Breathe.”

Pink obeys. He tries to breathe, tries to look, but it hurts.

“Who are you?” Pink whimpers. He shakes like a leaf, hands coming up to cover his face. He leaves a crack in his fingers for his eyes, as the stranger hasn’t told him he can look away yet.

The stranger frowns, deep and grieving.

“Henrik. I am your friend.”

Pink feels another wave of ache hit his chest. He cries into his hand, staring into Henrik’s piercing green eyes. He feels so much love and so much hurt in the same breath.

“Henrik?”

The doctor nods. Oh! Doctor! Henrik is a doctor, Pink remembers that.

“Im- I’m h- having trouble remembering who you are,” Pink starts, and Henrik nods. He understands. “But I know I love you.”

Henrik bows his head. Before he looks back up again, he wipes his eyes, and holds tight his old friend’s hand.

“I love you too, Chase,” he smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He clears his throat to stop the shake in his voice from showing. “Can you tell me how you feel?”

“Scared,” Pink murmurs. He tries to sit up again, wincing as his friend gently pushes him back to the bed. He pulls the puppet’s hands from his face and wipes away his tears.

“Don’t be,” he replies, holding Pink’s hand awfully tight. The puppet doesn’t mind the pressure of it. “You don’t have to be afraid here. Not anymore.”

The puppet shakes his head. His voice breaks when he speaks.

“I need Pseudo.”

The two friends frown, but for different reasons. There is a heavy grief that weighs down the air, seeping into the walls, bleeding out of their minds. Henrik stiffens in his discomfort with the statement.

“…Do you remember who Marvin is?” the doctor tries to change the subject.

The puppet breathes, searching his brain for a face to tie to the name. It comes much easier than Henrik’s did, because he looks just like Pseudo.

“Ps… Pseudo’s brother?”

“Yes, yes. Very good.” Pink seems to calm down with the praise. “He is going to heal your injuries.”

The calm goes away again.

“No,” the puppet shakes his head. “No, I deserved it, he- he can’t..”

“Why would you deserve this?”

“Because I— I tried to leave him,” Pinks voice comes out weak and whining, threatening another spill of tears. “I was bad, bad, bad.”

“No, Chase. Especially not for escaping.”

“No,” Pink says, to everything Henrik just told him. It’s all wrong. Chase is wrong, thats not his name. Escape is wrong, that implies Pseudo was bad. His breath picks up in his chest and his heart thumps louder behind his ribs.

“You don’t understand, you don’t understand-“

The doctor shakes his head. “Chase-“

“Pink!” The puppet smacks his own mouth for yelling. That’s what Pseudo would’ve done. “My name is Pink..” he mumbles behind his hand.

Henrik just breathes. He’s overwhelmed his friend, overwhelmed himself. Chase isn’t the same man anymore.

“…. You want me to call you Pink?”

The puppet nods. It sounds like venom coming from Henrik, like each letter is another fang for the snake to bite with. Why does he hate it?

The doctor just squeezes his friend’s hand. “Okay.. lets focus on one thing at a time, yes? Okay?”

Pink nods, allowing the doctor to remove his hand from his mouth.

“Okay…. Even though you think you deserve them, you can’t keep these wounds.”

Pink opens his mouth to protest, but Henrik holds up a finger to silence him.

“Do you want to walk around?”

Pink nods.

“Do you want to eat? Get dressed?”

Pink nods, and nods again when he realizes he’s only wearing boxer shorts under the blanket. Henrik’s finger comes down to his side again.

“Then you will let Marvin heal you. Okay?”

Pink frowns. This doesn’t feel right. He doesn’t know what to say, so he stays silent.

Henrik takes it as agreement and tries to relax again. He checks his phone, types something in with his free hand, and sets it back in his pocket. A few moments later, a soft knock is heard at the bedroom door. The doctor gives his friend a reassuring pat on the hand and ventures to open it.

Pink feels many things seeing Marvin come inside.

First, the comfort of his familiar face. It is nearly identical to Pseudo’s, with the only differences being their scar placement, eye colors, and lengths of hair. While Pseudo’s is short and black with a white streak, Marvin’s grows long past his shoulders in deep black waves, stopping just before his navel. It’s a bit unkempt, but still shining and smelling of the flowers and dirt adorning his garden. As for their eyes, Pink has no trouble picturing the soft brown of his beloved caretaker. Marvin’s are glassy and pale, with irises and pupils that almost blend into his sclera. He was blinded a long time ago, with scars to show how.

After the comfort of recognition, Pink feels afraid. He doesn’t want his injuries to be taken away. He doesn’t deserve that. On top of that, Marvin feels like an old friend and a stranger at the same time, similar to Henrik. It’s confusing, overwhelming, and makes him miss Pseudo that much more.

Henrik closes the door behind him, and sighs a breath of… Pink can’t quite tell with the lack of expression on his face.

“Hi, Chase,” Marvin greets softly. His voice is soothing and low toned, in contrast to the bouncing and playful Pseudo’s. “It’s good to have you here again.”

Pink pulls the blanket up higher to conceal his bare skin and bandaged wounds.

“Pink,” he replies, pathetic. “My- my name is Pink…”

Marvin nods. He steps a bit closer, hearing the shift in blankets again. Much like Pseudo, he can hear the beats of human hearts. The filling of air in lungs, the bubbling and breakdown of nutrients in the stomach, creaking of joints and pull of muscles. What’s loudest, now, is the anxiety that radiates off the puppet like heat to a well kindled fire. Marvin takes a deep breath, and stops a few inches from the bed.

“Pink,” he repeats. Henrik’s brow furrows in response, but the puppet seems pleased with the idea of his request being respected. “Do you remember who we are?”

The puppet looks at Henrik, who has yet to move from his crossed arms, furrowed brow stance. Then to Marvin, who is gentle, and warm, and patient.

“A little bit,” he replies. “A little, little bit.”

Marvin nods again, sitting down in the chair Henrik once occupied. Pink feels a little more relaxed.

“I’m sure Henrik told you what I’m here to do…” he says. He tilts his head when Pink whines about it, and the puppet sees Pseudo in his mind’s eye. Part of him wants to make Marvin angry to see if he’d hurt him like Pseudo does.

“Please don’t,” Pink wraps his arms around himself. “I need them…”

“Dear.. I don’t think you’ll enjoy your time here with all of those..”

“It doesn’t matter what I- what I would enjoy. Th- they were a punishment, and— and, and I need to keep them.”

Pink glances at Henrik. He grips his sleeve so tight his knuckles show white. His pupils are pinpricks in his eyes. Why is he so upset? Did Pink do something wrong? He’s being a bad puppet again, isn’t he?

“You don’t,” Henrik seethes. “You need to heal. Let Marvin help you.”

A string pulled. The puppet frowns. If Pseudo isn’t here to guide him, he should follow the word of someone else, shouldn’t he? Pseudo wouldn’t want him to stop being a puppet just because he’s gone. This is a test, after all, right?

“…Okay,” Pink obeys, pushing the blanket off of himself. The cool air pulls the goosebumps out of his skin.

“Could you take a deep breath, Pink?”

The puppet obeys another command from Marvin, pretending it’s Pseudo giving it to him. Once he breathes in, he is overcome with warmth.

Warmth, warmth, warmth. The burning agony that once chewed away at every wound on his body is lifted, replaced with a gentle, soothing sensation, and then nothing at all.

He feels lashes on his back smooth over, a hole in his tibia piece itself back together. Bruises on his wrists and ankles return to normal color, a mouth that once was scabbed with needle marks returns to something that doesn’t ache when he speaks. He feels all his punishments wash away, with only the memories left to prove them. Pink breathes out, sitting up without groaning in pain. It feels wrong and good at the same time.

“Thank you,” he says, despite his inner conflict. Pseudo taught him to be polite.

“You’re welcome, dear..” Marvin smiles softly at him. He leans in slightly, speaking a bit lower. “Now, how does getting some clothes and food sound?”

Pink wraps his arms around himself to cover some of his scars. Henrik won’t stop staring at them, and he looks angry. Pink doesn’t want him to be angry. He nods in response. “It sounds nice.. nice..”

Henrik finally breaks his gaze from the puppets carved skin to pull out clothes from the dresser. A pair of black sweatpants and a pair of grey shorts.

“Which one, Chase?”

Pink frowns. Why is he in trouble? He thought he was being good.

“Which one do you want me to wear?” Pink tries.

“I want you to pick.”

The puppet starts scratching at a scar on his arm. Pseudo doesn’t want him to make decisions, yet here, Henrik does. He isn’t sure if he’s supposed to follow Henrik’s rules or Pseudo’s, Marvin’s rules or just try to escape. What’s part of the test and what isn’t??? What happens if he makes the wrong decision, if he’s supposed to make one at all???

Pink’s eyes water and he shakes again, eyes darting between his choices. Marvin steps in when he hears whats going on inside the poor puppet’s chest.

“Wear these,” he stretches out an arm to grab the first thing he feels in his hand, which is the black sweatpants. “Don’t they feel soft?”

Pink nods, trying to calm himself down by feeling the fabric. He looks at Henrik for reassurance, who gestures for him to put them on.

He stares at his friend while he slowly, slowly slides a leg inside. This. Feels. Wrong. He’s not supposed to get dressed by himself.

But he was given a command, and he must follow it. That’s what a good puppet would do.

Henrik doesn’t give him shirt options once the pants are on. Pink wears a grey shirt with a logo on the pocket that reads:

C. Barrens

Math and Science Dept.

Pink sighs in relief. He is dressed and following commands, and Henrik doesn’t look so angry anymore. If he keeps up this good behavior, maybe Pseudo will be back to get him soon.

“Let’s go downstairs,” says Henrik, extending a hand which Pink gladly takes.

. . .

The house feels familiar.

Pink recognizes the hallways as he passes through them. The faces in the pictures are blurry in his mind, but the shape of them tugs at memories buried. He sees a picture with three children, one with green eyes and dark hair like Henrik’s, the other two blue eyed and freckle faced like himself. Before he can focus too deeply on who they are, he is tugged off down the stairs, left to wonder who those little smiles belong to. Part of him wants to ask, while another warns of a grief he isn’t ready to face yet. He pushes their faces out of his mind as they approach the kitchen, which pours light in through the screen door to the backyard.

Marvin follows close behind them, a hand on the puppet’s elbow to ensure he doesn’t walk the wrong path.

“Sit,” Henrik says gently, letting go of Pink’s hand to venture to the counter. When he turns back, Pink is sitting on the floor, on his knees, staring up at him like a puppy waiting for a treat.

“Ah-“ the doctor’s face twists from the nothing to frowning and furrowed brows again, almost a cringe. It’s like Henrik only has two modes of expression, nothing, or unhappy. “Here, sit up here, my friend.”

Henrik pulls out a chair for Pink to sit in, and the puppet plants himself there without a second thought. His cheeks burn in embarrassment for following a command wrong, and he instinctively pulls at his hair to both punish himself and soothe the humiliation. Marvin sits diagonal to him to chat while Henrik fixes up a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a glass of strawberry milk. Pink smiles when its set in front of him, thanking his friend.

“Go ahead,” says Henrik, after Pink just stares longingly at his meal. “It’s okay, Ch… it’s okay. You can eat.”

“H- how? By myself?”

The doctor just stares at the puppet. “…Yes,” he finally says. “You can eat by yourself.”

Pink nods, and continues staring at his sandwich. With cautious hands, he picks up the food, and takes a bite.

Henrik nods in approval and the puppet takes it as a win. He takes another bite, and relaxes as the taste fills his mouth. Blackberry jam, his favorite!

Marvin stands and turns to the doctor. “Come talk with me,” he says. Henrik nods, then turns to his friend.

“We will be in the other room if you need anything. Don’t be afraid to say something.”

Pink thanks them, and his friends leave the room. He is left to hear their muffled voices for a few minutes. It isn’t until he hears his “in- trouble” name that he begins to focus on what they’re saying.

“She wants to bring the kids over.”

“No, no… he isn’t ready for that, Henrik. I don’t want to overwhelm him..”

“I don’t either. And I wouldn’t know how to explain to them why their dad is so different..”

Is Pink dad? Is Pink a dad?

“Dad, dad, dad,” Pink whispers to himself. He wants to take a sip of strawberry milk, but he wasn’t given permission, so he just takes a break from eating until he can ask. “Dad, dad, dad…”

It feels sad and warm to be called dad. He thinks about the freckled faces he saw in the hallway, and his heart aches. Did they call him dad?

Their talking soon comes to an end as Pink’s focus was spent too long trying to remember things he can’t. Things he shouldn’t. His friends come back into the kitchen, where both of them sit at the table to keep their puppet company.

. . .

When nighttime comes, Pink doesn’t want to sleep.

“What if Pseudo comes to bring me home?” Pink says, curled up on the couch while a movie plays in the background. Henrik tried to get him to pick one out of two games to play first, which sent him into a panic attack, so they ended up putting the tv on instead. Pink stopped thinking about why he was crying once the screen came to life with characters he watches with Pseudo all too often.

“He will not come here,” Henrik replies sternly. He sees the hurt in his friend’s eyes and softens, trying to hide the stress he’s feeling. He must not have puppets like Pseudo does.

“I will not force you to rest. If you want to stay up, you can stay up, yes?”

Pink nods in agreement, pleased to have yet another request granted to him.

“Thank you, Henrik.”

“No, no. You made-“ the doctor bites his tongue, stopping himself from saying what he was intending. Pink wonders what it was, but it would be rude to speak in between his keeper’s thoughts.

“Don’t worry,” Henrik finally says. “Let’s watch your movie, yes?”

“Okay.”

As time passes on, the two men grow more and more tired. Henrik refuses to sleep when Pink isn’t, but he won’t explain why. Another movie turns on when the first ends, and then another, and by the time the fourth movie is on, Henrik is fast asleep on the couch. It isn’t long before Pink follows, and the next time he opens his eyes, daylight pours in the windows.

It’s delicate and cool, as though the sun is just barely beginning to rise. Pink looks around the room to find no Henrik, and no Pseudo. A pang of disappointment makes him frown.

The puppet sits up to stretch, pleased yet guilty that he feels no pain in doing so. While keeping the blanket wrapped around his shoulders, Pink looks around the living room, observing, observing, observing. He hears muffled voices speaking in another room, and despite not having permission, he stands up from the couch. Henrik never really did say “stay,” so technically, he can move freely for now.

He wanders closer to the noise, while staying far enough away as not to alert Marvin of his presence. He finds that standing at the kitchen counter gives him the best earshot of what’s being said.

“He’s very hypnotized..” says Marvin. It’s harder to hear him with how quiet he talks. “It won’t work unless we can coax Chase back out of his mind.”

“Why? I don’t understand.”

“He has to want to fight for himself, too, Henrik. Otherwise we can only know Pink, and Chase is forgotten.”

“You can’t bring him out with magic? Or— or healing?”

“No. There is no reversing what Pseudo did. He has to make the decisions on his own… then I can help him come back.”

Pink’s brow furrows. He feels a heat in his chest, a pit in his stomach. Are they trying to being Chase back? He can’t let that happen. He has to obey Pseudo. This is his test, and he cannot fail. He wants to go home.

As his two friends continue their discussion- which leaves a sour taste in Pink’s mouth- a phone begins to vibrate on the counter. Pink looks down at it, instinctively following the noise.

“Stacey B.”

A picture of a blonde woman, smiling and sweet and beautiful. Pink gets butterflies just looking at her, oh, she’s gorgeous. He smells peaches and citrus and a bakery in Liverpool. Oh, God, and then the ache comes.

He looks at her and her pretty eyes, pretty face, pretty hair, and he feels like he should know who she is. So why doesn’t he?

The phone keeps ringing. No one seems to notice but Pink.

[misdemeanor1331]

Now Live!! Escape From Malfoy Manor

Escape From Malfoy Manor

We are live, folks!! This is not a drill!!

Kick off your Halloween in style with the Choose Your Own Adventure horror/camp collaboration of your dreams and/or nightmares!

The demented minds of @bek48, @efinna, @goodnight-fraublucher, Kinder Blucher, @mysteriouscatstellation, @misdemeanor1331, @mistresslynndramione, and @photonzeroinfinity are happy to have you!

[thatsmutaccount]

HO HO HO, COME ON AND COME ALL! SANTA'S TOY WORKSHOP FOR GROWN CHILDREN IS NOW OPEN, AND ALL OF YOU ARE INVITED TO VISIT! HO HO HO!

ThatSmutAccount 2024 Christmas story is now out! Come and enjoy this special Rex Christmas adventure, where all your choices matter to achieve the perfect ending for Rex.

Merry Christmas, and to all of you a happy new year!

Santa Sex Toy Workshop

A Rex Smutty Choose Your Own Adventure Christmas Story It all started with a snow globe.... And then forests of evergreens, white fields, and a toy factory, always hard at work with its cheerful inhabitants, busy getting everything in order so that it is all ready for Christmas Eve... But this is a story with Rex Brynn, so things are not as they seem, and small changes bring our hero not to the world's most famous toy workshop but to one slightly different, but far more in line with his tastes. Get ready for this Christmas CYOA, and be careful, because every choice counts, and different endings await our hero depending on what is decided

[uwuowotf2waslife]

With New Year’s Eve coming soon imma do my schtick.

The administrator feeling somewhat kind this jolly year (or also being invited to a very professional yeti punching date by Chadwick Chaddermegaman Saxton Hale.) offered the mercs a peace treaty for the last day of the year.

During the much needed battlefield office party :

1. Someone spiked the fruit punch so much they spent the new years countdown holding on the porcelain throne for dear life.

2. Two people decided to play poker, they started with beans as chips and now one has enough money for a new villa in Kavos and the other is considering to pull off a heist to make back their money.

3. DDR Marathon untill they popped their hip doing the Rasputin

4.responsible person Skyping their parents and sending emails to relatives.

5. Hiding inside a pillow fort because new years is here and THEY HAVENT MET ANY OF THEIR GOALS.

6. Adult person who watches the news segment and all the cheesy new years s programming.

7. Adult person with 3 brain cells making fun of the other adult and making eww and silly noises every time something particularly cringè or cheesě happens.

8. Absolute chad who plays cod while blasting Christmas music in his mic.

Who did what ? And what merc is the chaddest of them all?

The mercs will be revealed at 23:45 at 31/12

Your guesses in reblogs/comments/anonasks❤️

[yxstxrdrxxm-a]

POLL RESULT—! > Yes.

...

Then it is decided. Good luck.

ALBEDO'S ROUTE: THE BIRTH OF IMPERFECTIONS [ DAY 7: BEGIN ]

It had been days since they've seen ALBEDO again.

Now, YESTERDAY is no fool. They spent the past few days assessing orders and making sure they were well taken care of. That was something they weren't going to forget so quickly.

Maybe he forgot his order, they thought, shrugging as they focused on their job.

Though, it was short lived when they heard the familiar chime of the bell at their door, signifying that someone had came in their shop.

"Excuse me," ALBEDO said, adjusting the coat he wore with a nod. "I'm here to receive my order for the flowers."

"Ah, of course! I'll be right there with you," YESTERDAY replied, raising their head to look at him before they looked away to get to the bouquets.

"Let's see, they're... Chrysanthemum and Gerbera Daisies..." they murmured, retrieving the two bouquets and handing it over to the blonde. "Here they are, wrapped and ready. I made sure that these are as fresh as I can get them."

He nodded in response, retrieving the flowers without fuss. Though, he did raise an eyebrow at the arrangement.

Oh, no. Is there an issue in them?

"... How curious," he said, his lips quirking up to a small smile. "I wasn't expecting for you to choose white chrysanthemums. you seem to have some particular tastes in your arrangement."

Oh. It's just the flowers.

"Ah, well... I thought that the meaning fits you, sir," they replied, scratching the back of their neck. "You seem to be the type to be honest, so it would only make sense for me to choose that, no?"

"Perhaps," he nods in agreement, humming. "As for the Gerbera Daisies, I'm quite intrigued. What made you choose these, and in pink as well?"

The florist paused. There was a lot of reasons for them to say why, but that may not be something that he wants to hear. Pondering over his question, they closed their eye to think.

"... Well," they began, pondering over what to say carefully. "I chose these flowers because I want to..."

This poll will receive answers until 11 PM (GMT+8). Keep in mind that the majority will win, so vote what you think is right.

Additionally, any poll after this with additional votes WILL be null when the results are out. Choose wisely, focus on the recent poll, and ignore the past.

FLAWED TAGLIST: (send an ask to be added for Flawed!) @beloved-blaiddyd ; @mixed-kester ; @mochinon-yah ; @fffiii ; @leftdestiny-posts ; @ambrosia-divine

[dirigibleplumbing]

Don’t Do This - A Choose Your Own Adventure Story!

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Rating: T

Chapters: 1 of 2

Tags: Interactive Fic, Major Character Death, Major Character Undeath, s15x18 Despair, s15x19 Inherit the Earth, s15x20 Carry On, Whump, Angst, Happy Endings are possible in chapter 2, not all tags may apply depending on reader choices, POV second person, Metafiction

Summary: You’re hunter extraordinaire Dean Winchester, the most caring man on earth! What will you do? It’s up to you! That’s free will, baby.

read the fic on ao3

Notes: Depending on what options you choose, you may be faced with angst, character death, and unhappy endings. Please note that not all canon events (or non-canon events) are given the same amount of attention in this fic, so some sections will give you many options and variations to choose from and lots of description, and others will provide more limited description and choices.

For an idea of what to expect from the "gameplay" of this fic, I have a poorly edited little video that shows an excerpt of an earlier draft.

[meowmeowriley]

Changes: a Poll-Fic

Ch. 4 Remove the Blindfold and Muzzle

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3

(Cheeky link to Ch. 5->) Ch. 5

CW: Graphic Depictions of Gore, Body Horror, Bug Stuff

The only thing worse than being captured and restrained, was being muzzled like an animal. Dehumanized. "Ghost." He called, announcing to the other man that yes, he was here. His Johnny was here. Ghost, and only Ghost, could call him that.

Ghost sighed in relief, his chains jingled as his shoulders and body slumped. "Johnny."

The giggling had not stopped.

While normally Soap wouldn't be able to see his face due to the mask, he desperately wished he could see his facial features in that moment. The way his face would soften, the thin stubble that wouldn't grow over his scars, his crooked and jagged teeth peaking out when he smiled. "Gaz, be advised: I found Ghost." Soap had begun approaching the other man.

"He broken?" The only thing broken it seemed was Gaz's voice coming through comms. Reception was shite however many kilometers he was under the surface.

"He's still standing." Soap had reached his Lieutenant at last. Through the green haze of the NVG's he made out darker stains all over the man. He wasn't dumb, he knew dried blood when he saw it. It was caked in his hair, dripped out from the slits in the muzzle and underneath it, down his neck. His neck was a sight. "Creepin' bloody Jesus..." Soap brought a hand to the man's neck, where a flat metal band was so tight it was embedded in the skin. Soap couldn't tell what they were made of, but spikes of some kind jutted out of Ghost's neck above and below the collar- because what else could soap call it- and wrapped over it, digging into the flesh on the opposite end from which they protruded. The flesh was angry and warm even through his glove, and when he touched one of the spikes it felt like a hardened shell or coating of some kind, plastic or-

It moved. Several of the others moved in response, like a wave. It reminded Soap of the centipede. Way too fucking much like the centipede.

Ahahahahahahuhhhhh...hhhmmmmmmm...

The laughing had tapered into a pleased hum. Soap's stomach seized. His head throbbed. A part of him deep down screamed to back away. Whatever that was was unnatural. He withdrew his hand from Ghost's neck. The humming stopped.

"Johnny?" Ghost tilted his head. He sounded worried.

"Sorry, Sir. My heid's mince. Been worried about you, havenae slept much." He closed back in and pushed the blindfold out of the way. Crusted blood flaked and crunched, and made it difficult to tug off. He knew to expect the worst, but to see that Ghost had had both of his eyes removed nearly caused him to void his stomachs contents all over the both of them. Dried blood trailed down from both sockets, down behind the muzzle.

"Can't wait to get back to base, sleep in my own bloody bed." Ghost said calmly, as if he didn't have a horrifying career-ending disfigurement.

As Soap tried to force his tongue to form some sort of reply, a quip or snide remark, anything to lighten the mood or keep himself from barfing, he noticed the centipede climbing over Ghost's muzzle.

"Oh ye fecker-" Soap was about to swat the damn thing off of Ghost when he was interrupted.

"Took you long enough." Ghost huffed. The centipede reared back, holding on with only its posterior end, and regarded the man whom it was perched upon. It seemed to look from one socket to the other, debating perhaps? "Like what you see?" Ghost asked it, and the laughing picked up in full force, reverberating off the walls. The abomination seemed to come to a decision, as it nodded, and then continued its ascent up Ghost's face. It crawled up into his hair, then began crawling in reverse. It burrowed its way underneath Ghost's loose right eyelid, pincers first. Soap watched. It was all he could do to stop himself from retching as the centipede curled around inside the socket. Once it found where it evidently wanted to be, it buried itself into the walls of the cavity with a wet squelching. Rivulets of blood, macabre tears, fell from the corners of his eye as it settled. Then Ghost blinked. The eye flitted about the room, before landing on Soap. His cheek raised, his eye squinted. Ghost was smiling. The only indication of what he'd just witnessed was a single leg from the centipede that had been left protruding out from the far corner of the socket, nestled amongst Ghost's crows feet.

Only one thought found it's way to the forefront of Soap's mind. He shouldn't be able to see me. For a split second, with the giggling wrapping around him like a blanket made of wriggling centipedes, Soap felt inclined to turn his gun on the man he'd just come to save.

"Johnny?"

"Johnny?"

Soap shook himself. How dare he even entertain the thought of the man he so loved revered. Whatever they'd done to Simon, whatever he'd just witnessed, didn't matter. Rescuing Ghost was his one and only goal here. Whatever the bio weapon was, Soap was sure it was the cause of what he'd just witnessed.

He cleared his throat. "Sorry, sir. Told you, not feeling great." He forced an apologetic smile, feeling that despite the darkness and the fabric covering his face, Ghost would see it.

"Let's get you out of here, Sergeant." As if you're not the one in chains. Soap's resolve returned to him, and he reached back behind Ghost's head to unbuckle the muzzle. As he fiddled with it, however, he heard footsteps. Many footsteps.

"Soap, hide." Ghost ordered. But where? Soap finally took in the room around them, something he should have done upon entering. Jars and canisters were set upon open frame metal shelves. Saws, pliers, scalpels, and many other tools sat on a tray next to Ghost. The rest of the room was bare. He kicked himself for opting to remove the blindfold instead of the chains, at least if Ghost were free he'd have had extra hands to help fight.

A glow grew and shrank, then grew some more in the hallway. Someone was approaching with a flickering light. A flame lamp, or a torch of some sort. Soap tried to focus on the footsteps, determine how many men were out there, but the echo made it impossible to know. His only option was to hide behind the door he'd broken down, and hope he could overtake them. He knew he didn't have the element of surprise, they would have seen the picked locks and known that someone was down here. The outlook was bleak, but when was it not, in the 141? The odds were never in his favor, no need for things to be different now.

Shh shh... hmmmheeheh... shhhhh.....

A man entered the room and immediately swung his gun around the crooked door, aiming it at Soap. Instead of reaching for his own Gun, Soap forced himself against the door. The abused hinges gave, and he slammed the guy between the door and the wall. It had the desired affect of disorienting the others. He could see three other men in the hallway. He couldn't have them shooting into the room, it risked injuring Ghost, so he dove towards the group in the hopes that they'd engage in hand to avoid the risk of accidental friendly fire.

He was correct. All his assailants dropped their guns and reached for various other weapons, two grabbed knives, one, a tazer, and the fourth, the poor bastard who'd been pancaked against the wall, opted for his fists. Soap pulled his own knife once more, and set about taking out the enemy before him. He wasn't some rookie, Soap was an expert combatant, and could hold his own against multiple enemies. He still had his NVG's down, however, and the light from the flame lamp was bright, fucking up his ability to see. Pancake guy got a quick jab to his throat, he'd bleed out quickly and painfully. Shouldn't have brought fists to a knife fight.

One of the knife wielding assailants clearly didn't know what he was doing, as he swung the knife in a wide arch towards Soap. Soap grabbed the man by his arm and sent him careening into the other knife holder.

Tazer guy took the chance and slammed the tazer into Soap's side. It wasn't perfect contact, but it was enough to momentarily stun him. The knife wielders closed back in, one bearing down as the other swept his feet out from under him. Soap went down, brought his hands up to defend himself, but the lamp was so bright, he couldn't see quite what was happening. He managed to deflect the man to the side, but didn't get his hand out of the way. For a moment he felt pressure on his pinky and ring finger on his right hand, just above the first knuckles, but then just as quickly he felt nothing at all. Nothing but warmth.

He threw the man off of himself, tossed his own knife into his left hand, and sank it into the man he'd just thrown. Three quick jabs to the throat. Overkill, just for good measure. And revenge.

Soap scrambled back up, tazer guy and knife guy were bearing down on him again, and he found that he was back in the room with Ghost. They attempted a pincer maneuver, coming at him from both sides, so Soap lunged towards the man with the tazer, taking the hit to his armor plated chest where he wouldn't feel it, and tried to get his blade in the man's neck as well. The man feinted back and tripped, falling towards Ghost. Ghost seemed all too happy to join in, restrained or not.

AHAHHAHA HHHAAAHAHAHAH!

The laughing was outright deafening, and Ghost had joined in as he rested all of his body weight on the chains restraining him. He brought his legs up and wrapped them around the fallen man, who'd dropped his tazer. "Hahahahaaaa!"

HAHAHAHH AAHHAH AHAH HAHA!

This gave Soap the opportunity to take on the remaining man with a knife, stabbing his own into the man's arm, dragging him forward and dispatching him much as he had the rest.

He stood, turned towards Ghost to dispatch the fourth, and watched the fight bleed out of the man as Ghost used his thighs to choke the man to death. He scrabbled against the thick muscles enveloping his throat in vain. As he slumped, and Ghost let him go, Soap knelt down and forced his knife through the man's quickly bruising skin for good measure. A manic thought flitted through his mind, I wouldn't mind to die like that, Simon. Luckily he managed to keep that thought internal.

Ahah... heh... hhmmmhhmhmhmmm heh...

Soap brought up his right hand, and saw he had in fact just lost two fingers. He glanced around but didn't see them. The stumps throbbed and blood spurted out from them.

(Cheeky link to Ch. 5->) Ch. 5

[raccoonfallsharder]

a while back you inspired me to write a rocketxoc fanfic on ao3 but I never finished the first chapter so I never posted it

I had found a way to exploit ao3’s workskin system to make a choose your own adventure story because they allowed juuuust barely enough css functionality that I could make passages show up depending on what links you chose. But the writing was harder than the programming so it sits unfinished

What are your thoughts on a choose your own rocket fanfic? Is that something you’d enjoy reading? And how would you go about writing one?

sweet fluffy little golden raccoon baby. (i can only assume you are a raccoon because that is possibly one of the cleverest fucking things i've ever heard. rocket would be extremely proud of you, and probably resentful that he didn't think of it himself.) seriously, this is genius.

i'm honored to have inspired anything at all and i would one-billion-percent read this???? CYOA stories were a nostalgic staple for me (they weren't part of my normal reading consumption because my parents were weird, but my cousins had a ton of them, so when i was a nugget and i was at their place, i would hole up in their closet and read these books and their copies of goosebumps).

as for how i would write one - woof. i don't know. i think i'd have to map it out? i'm not sure if i'd start at the various ends and work my way backwards to a single beginning, or if i'd start at the beginning and work my way out to various logical ends. (i actually have a hard time with sequencing so i might even start in the middle - lets say there was a major choice i wanted reader to be faced with - and everything else would either be about the choices reader made to get them this far and/or the fallout). gosh you could even get really weird and do something completely anachronistic - or fatalistic, where no matter what choices reader makes, they only lead to one outcome. geez the possibilities are endless

what i can say with certainty is that i'm a visual person, so before i started writing-writing, i'd probably create some kind of chart - like a bracket system in reverse, with each "set" signifying a plot-altering choice. that way i could see where my chapters were coming from, and where they were going to. (this kind of thing also helps keep my motivated tbh)

literally HOW FUN though, this is very loki // multiverse of you. i absolutely adore it, 10/10 would read, and if you ever decide to publish any of it, please send me a message or tag me or whatever. i'd be thrilled to get a chance to consume it v o r a c i o u s l y

[millenniumcomics]

Oh, this morning I did remember we're working on this amazing CYOA

Also look at Seto's hand reaching for Atem falling as the plane is exploding <3

Probably this will be only meant for like 2 people, born in 1990s and nostalgic. FOR ME FOR SURE YES. Soooooo I can't wait for it to be done!!!

Totally publish this on the 30th of September 2024 - and even if I really hope we can be faster with both beta-ing, coding, (Because yes, you'll have to make them duel!) translating and illustrating my hopes are low to make it before then.

I'll share more wip because illustrations are AMAZING I can't even start with them!

[ink-and-dagger]

DRINK WITH ME - The Virgin AU

Choose your own adventure || 7 day poll || MDNI

Drink With Me Masterlist🥃

Part 3:3 - Read on AO3

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3:1 || Part 3:2 || Part 3:3 || Part 3:4