#i'm actually kinda proud of this one

[forestshadow-wolf]

What if... hidden horror au (I blame my moot for this bc they keep posting horror aus and I eat that shit up every. Damn. Time)

Cw: vulgar language but only a little, and also horror themes (obviously), and also (nongraphic)vomiting in fear near the end, it's a long one fyi

The 141 sent to investigate the mysterious disappearance of an entire military operation. It seemingly happened in less than 18 hours, a fully staffed military base, just gone.

When they get there it's nearing 1900 hours and night-time is approaching rapidly. The base itself looks... unremarkable. From the outside at least, only faint, indistinguishable sounds until they get closer. From the inside however... the red auxiliary lights have come on, and the emergency alarm is blaring, and... it's unnerving empty, and nearly silent save for the alarm. If you learn anything from anything, it's that human populated areas are rarely ever silent. Much less a military base.

Due to the unknown variables price splits them into pairs to cover more ground effectively. He and gaz head for security and comms, to see if they can find any leads. He sends soap and ghost off to look for any signs of life.

They spend an hour search and clearing room after room, finding only dropped and strewn items, but not a soul to be found.

It's not too much later that they kick open the southeast wing, and they both freeze. A shiver of anything but cold runs through both of them, but the hall is still empty, and differs minimally from any other area of the base they've cleared so far, so the push on.

They're... twitchier than normal for some reason, so when they slam open the door of another room and the lights flicker and cut out before backup emergency light flick on they both flinch. Logically they don't how long the base has been running on aux power, so it's probably just the generators running low, but that doesn't stop them from glancing frantically at eachother. The have to take a breath and remind themselves that it's nothing they haven't experienced before, even if their hearts are beating a mile a minute.

When they hear a wicker of sound from the hall they whip around, eyes wide with dis-calm, breathing shallow. Soap's eyes flick to Ghost for reassureance. Ghost doesn't look at him, keeping his eyes trained on the door as he flicks his comm line open. Soap follows suit automatically, breathing still shaky.

"Price, get visuals on the southeast wing." Ghost's voice feeds through the thick air, and soap's ear piece. Piercing, start and stop, feedback, that had them turning the volume on their radios way low, was their only response. "Price." He tried again. "Price. how copy?" Nothing but that incessantly wavering tone.

"Gaz? You copy?" Soap took a few hesitant steps back into the hall. Ghost followed. The tone of his radio racketed up to ear piercing volume before lowering back down to a low, almost slow... clicking(?) sound, that made soap balls want to shoot back up into his body. "Gaz?"

soap almost looked back at Ghost, but then suddenly Ghost was flying out of there, and pushing Soap ahead of him. soap had no choice but to follow, his legs moving even before his brain registered the heart stopping stabbing, or the unchilled shivers that wracked his through his hands.

and it's not until they've left the south side of the base entirely that his brain even begins to register the bone-quivering presence that was behind them, that had been breathing over their shoulders. still they don't stop running.

it's only when they reach the doors of the base entrance that soap's mind reboots and he remembers they didn't come here alone. he skids to a stop at the threshold, blocking the way out.

"what are you doing?! Go!" Ghost growls at him, frantic and afraid, shoving bodily at soap. he doesn't let up.

"Price and Gaz." he spits. Ghost freezes, eyes darting side to side erratically.

ghost turns abruptly, breath hitching with fear, marching determinedly back into the base. soap follows close behind, not willing to be left alone, nor to leave Ghost on his own to find their other two companions.

soap thinks about simply radioing them from his comms, but something about the eerie quiet keeps him from doing so. he swallows nervously as they walk down hallway after hallway.

they turn down one last corner, and suddenly the pressing fear that seemed to permeate the air, slams down on his lungs with all to tangible horrifying terror. his hands tremble terribly as he clenches his eyes closed as tightly as he could, and forces himself to take another step forward, and another, until he's shoulder to shoulder with his frozen in place Lieutenant.

"close-" he swallows the thick bile that tries to climb up his throat, "close your eyes. it helps with-" he had to clear his throat again, it seemed too loud for the silence, "it helps with the fear. just- just close your eyes. Ghost- Simon. close your eyes." he begged, violently fighting down the rising bile in his throat, when Ghost still didn't move. he grabbed Ghost by the bicep and squeezed as hard as he could, trying to get some sort of reaction.

he hears a shivered breath come from the taller man, and when he finally musters the courage to open his eyes he looks immediately at Ghost. even through the mask, his face looks sunken with fear, and he's shaking harder than a leaf in a hurricane, but his eyes are closed nonetheless. he clamps his eyes back shut again.

he's quick to stumble backwards, still gripping onto Ghost as hard as he could, until his back hit the wall, and he turns them down the corner. Ghost noticeably untenses some as soon as they're further down the hallway, and the pressing fear lifts just the tiniest bit. still he does not let go, nor does he open his eyes, moving them back to the base entrance on feel and memory alone.

it's only when the cool night air registers in his panic addled brain does he open his eyes, though he still doesn't let go of ghost. he opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. he clears his throat once, twice. "we're outside. you can open your eyes now." the words come out scratchy and weak.

it's only when ghost unclenches his own eyes that he realizes there are tear tracks streaking through the black grease paint surrounding his eyes, and he can see the pale skin underneath is almost grey with still present terror.

he quickly becoming apparent to him that ghost cannot go back in there again. he nearly lets out a sound of sob when he realizes, but takes the sound in a firm grip and doesn't let it up as he begins to strip out of his heaviest gear. he swallows again when he's finally down to nothing but his sidearm strapped to his thigh, and a knife at his hip. he feels naked going back in without his gear, but it won't do him much good against it anyway, and he's favoring speed anyway. plus he needs both hands free to drag Price and Gaz out...

ghost tries to stop him as he gearing down, but he doesn't listen, just telling him to gather up his gear with a firm look. it doesn't look like Ghost has the wherewithal to argue against him, and it's confirmed when he does as he's told.

a whimper escapes him as he enters the doors into the base again, but he forces himself forward. he doesn't stop until his legs will no longer listen to him, then he closes his eyes, and shuffles forward anyway, using the wall to guide him back. the only sounds are his shuffling steps, and terrified breaths in the suffocating silence.

he only stops when he hears another set of noises. breathing, not his own. he forces his eyes open despite the dread that squeezed his heart to bursting. ten feet away price stands, his back to him, trembling where he's frozen. three feet further, Gaz lays prone on the ground, eyes wide open in frozen fear, but his chest is moving still.

when he can't stomach to keep his eyes open he closes them tight again, working his way forward on memory alone until he knocks into price. it feels like the man wobbles but stays standing, soap crouches and wraps around the front of him, one clammy, shaking hand anchored firmly on his ankle, feeling around until his hand meets Gaz's temple. the terror has him quivering and nearly ready to hurl, it's only sheer will power that keeps him from doing so.

he flails around for a moment until he can grab the strap on the back of Gaz's vest, and drag him closer. he needs to pick him up but he's unwilling to let go of Price in the process, so he pulls Gaz until he can hoist him up on his knee and eventually onto his back.

it takes longer than he wants it to with his clumsy, trembling hands, but he does it. as soon as he has a firm hold on Gaz, he drags himself up, moving his hold from Price's ankle onto his vest strap. his heart is racing, and he's shaking, and his hands are cold and sweaty with fear, he needs out. out. out. everything in his being screams at him to get. out.

as soon as he has a firm hold on both men he's scrambling back the way he came, careless of how price falls backwards, only saved from slamming his head on the concrete by soap's frantic pace, and iron will of a grip on the back of his vest. he goes and goes and goes, eyes shut tight, moving on memory alone, slamming into corners and walls alike, but he doesn't stop. not as he slams into a corner so hard he splits his lip, not as he hits a wall hard enough that he can feel wetness sliding from his brow, not as he retches in fear.

and for the love of all that he cares about he does not let go. not until he hears ghost trying to calm his spooked mind, and he's sure they're outside again.

it's only then that his grip weakens, and he's sure that price and gaz crash to the ground, but he can't tell because he's keeled over retching terror and panic onto the uneven ground, trying to stop the sobs from completely sapping his shaking body of the last of his strength.

he's not completely sure what happens after that, it's all mostly a haze addled memory. shakily dragging a barely conscious price back to the exfil, helo that Ghost must've called, while Ghost carried Gaz's shellshocked form. the flight back was silent, or he thinks it waas at least, he can't remember. getting checked out by medical, Ghost was the best out of all of them, Gaz and Price seemed to come out of it soon after they arrived back on base, but soap was still wide-eyes and shaking by the end of 2 hours' observation in medical. they'd discharged him when it became apparent that there wasn't much they could do for him, under the condition that he was kept under constant watch until he came out of it.

it was nearing the end of what could be called afternoon when Soap came back to himself enough for his brain to begin memory storage again. he was laid, shivering, down on the couch of the 141 private rec room couch. ghost was sat in the loveseat next to his head, quietly reading aloud to him. he was still trembling when he pushed himself sitting, ghost stopped reading abruptly to watch him.

"how are you feeling?" he asked, almost passing soap a mug of lukewarm tea from the coffee table before noticing that his hands were still shaking too much to not spill the liquid everywhere. soap looked down at his hand, still feeling a little thrown from his body, and clenched them tight trying to get them to still, to no avail. "hungry?"

soap's stomach roiled at the thought of food and he grimaced. ghost took that as the answer it was and let it go, as soap unclenched his fists. he looked down at his hands, willing them to stop trembling. they did not seem like they were willing to listen to him any longer after being pushed so far beyond their limits. Ghost laid a steady, hand on his own.

"the doctor said it'll go away in it's own time." he said gently. soap huffed, but let it go, and ghost released his light hold.

a zagging line of cold ran up his side when Ghost moved his hand, and he shivered into it. evidently Ghost noticed because in the next moment he was snuggling into the brit's side, trying to stave off an imagined cold that felt real enough to him.

it's a little while later of comfortable quiet that his slow mind coujures up a thought. "Price? Gaz?" he croaks into the velvety atmosphere, such a stark difference from the last thing he remembers.

"they're okay. you got them out." Ghost says calmly

"you?" his brain can't quite come up with multi-word ideas yet.

"you got me out first. I'm okay." Ghost's Manc accent soothes him. they fall back into a cool quiet for a moment before Ghost picks his book back up and continues reading aloud softly.

soap swallows thickly, letting the Manc accented words smooth over the black, sinister tarnished memory of before. it's better with Ghost he thinks sluggishly, as his eyes close tiredly.

it takes most of the following day for him to be able to hold down bland rice and mashed potatoes, and it's not until that night that the last of the shake leaves his hand weak for grip strength.

the day after that they all crowd into Price's offices to debrief, and work through what happened at the abandoned base. Price and Gaz both only remember accessing the security cameras, they deduce from there that they must've been affected to a lesser affect by It through the cameras, then It found them when they tried to escape. they figure it must've happened sometime around when soap and Ghost entered the southeast wing, of which Ghost says he doesn't remember anything after the clearing the first room of the wing.

soap was mostly quiet, mulling over all of the new information, piecing the puzzle together. he only realizes that they're all staring at him when ghost nudged him in the side. he clears his throat and quietly tells him that he remembers most of it, to which he receives questions of explanation.

he recounts how they off loaded the helo at around 1900 hours, price split them up, the he walks them through clearing the base until the southeast wing, and their comms had cut, where they continued clearing it until ghost rushed them out. soap says that 'It' must've already gotten to Gaz and Price by then, which is why they were so frozen when he'd dragged them out. he explains how he and ghost had tried to retrieve them, but had had to leave before they got to them. how he had dragged ghost out, and went back to retrieve them. then he doesn't remember.

"mate, what it 'It'?" Gaz questions worriedly.

"how do you remember so much that we don't? you seem to have been affected... differently than us." price asks.

ghost just looks at him with a look he can't quite decipher so he ignores it.

soap isn't sure how to properly answer those questions, but he does his best.

'It' is a macTavish family legend, a secret, a monster, something sinister, he's not really sure. all he knows is that it's faceless, shapeless, odorless, doesn't have a name, and to his knowledge nobody's ever touched it and lived, and he's encountered it only once before, and he prays to never do so again. he swallows shakily, almost afraid the trembling is back, as he explains. he tells them that 'It' and the MacTavish's have a long and extensive history that he doesn't really know all too much about, and he assumes there's something in there that makes him be affected differently. and he wasn't aware that it could... shift. he thinks that might be the most correct word for it, he wasn't aware it could take out an entire military base. though he was thoroughly aware of it's... terrifying abilities.

he's aware that he's only created more questions with his answers, but he doesn't have answers to those questions, so he stays quiet, trying to block the memory from his mind. he tries not to lean too much into the comforting warmth that was Ghost at his side.

by the end of debrief Price has decided to give word that the abandoned bass it to be restricted all access up to a mile radius outside of the area, with reasoning of soap's recounting, barring the MacTavish history. soap can't really say he cares all that much about what happens to that god forsaken base, as long as he doesn't have to go back there. ever.

Eyyy what do ya know! One part! Lmk if you think I should clean this up and toss it on ao3

[exar547]

new comfort character discovered

also. this is my first art posted on my Tumblr so that's a bonus!!

[jasminethetransvampire]

New Minthara/Elena fic! It's about as smutty as the last one, though it also gets kinda emotional, especially in the first half. Also I kinda accidentally planted the seeds for a potential mommy kink, we'll see how that works out.

[somnimagus]

My page for @destinytriofanzine! I drew something about kids always dreaming of far off places

[id in alt!]

[exophreak]

HEY LOOK IT'S THAT THING FROM ULTRAKILL

i haven't even played the game proper, but i found myself overcome by my love for robots :]

[vulpinesaint]

Venom + Kissing Death by MOTHICA

[emrlden]

I wanna draw more fullmetal alchemist!!

[themintman]

drawing from last night I did to test my new pens 😋😋

I did that one (probably dead) art trend and OUGH HOW DID I DO THAT. WHAT THE FUCK

[moralcandy]

fifteen things that don't come back, by charlie slimecicle:

number one. the paper airplane you and your daughter throw at your husband while his back is turned in the kitchen, the two of you hiding behind the counter as you snicker quietly when he stops humming and yelps a curse as he turns around with a faux angry expression and a poorly-hidden smile.

number two. the glass your daughter broke trying to grab it from the cabinet on her tippy-toes. you didn't look over until you heard the glass shatter against the kitchen floor, too preoccupied with grabbing the jug of cold orange juice from the fridge to notice until it was too late. golden, afternoon sunlight shone warmly on the both of you from the open window as you swept it up while she stood to the side with a sheepish expression.

number three. your husband's soft shirt he let you borrow when you said you couldn't find your own but really you just quickly shoved yours under the bed when he wasn't looking. you absently noted that it smelled like him. your lips curved into a slight smile without input. your foot shoved your shirt under the bed a little bit farther.

number four. the pictures you took of your daughter and niece, hugging eachother as they posed for the camera, the photo incinerated into ash when you blew up your house. you frantically dug through your daughter's chest afterwards, soot covering your hands as you searched for the photograph. you did not find it.

number five. your niece.

number six. the feeling of a cold glass of wine held tipsily in your hand, the waterdrop of condensation slipping down the glass at the same pace your tears did down your cheeks. you downed the alcohol until there was nothing left except a burning feeling and a lump in your throat. the bartender did not give you another drink.

number seven. your friend, the one who used to laugh hysterically with you as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders before he began to scream at you while he wrapped his hands around your neck. he pushed you into the dirt, the metallic taste of blood in your mouth and the feeling of wet dirt on your skin as you absently question whether the water dripping on your face was the rain or the tears slipping down your friend's face. you know that was the funeral of your children, but you think both of the real 'you's died that day, too.

number eight. the warm, rumbling feeling of laughter in your chest as a smile hurts your cheeks, the sensation long gone. your mouth, for a moment, twitches into a small smile at the memory of the feeling.

number nine. the feeling of hands on your own, your husband's warm hands intertwined with yours as your cold, golden rings clink against eachother. your daughter's tiny hand clasped around yours as she leads you to a butterfly she found, grass brushing your ankles as you walk.

ten. the sound of your daughter's amused laughter, snorts interrupting occasionally. her head leans back as she giggles, her eyes scrunched up in happiness.

eleven. the sound of your husband's soothing voice, lilting with fondness as he looks at you. a smile absently crosses his face as he speaks, audible in his voice. you always remember smiling back.

twelve. your golden wedding band your husband lovingly slipped onto your ring finger so long ago, the one you furiously tossed into a dusty corner with particularily bad aim. you blame the poor aim on the tears blurring your vision, but it could've been the alcohol, really.

thirteen. your husband. you try to go to sleep in the center of your bed now, knowing that he won't be there. when you wake up, you always find yourself on the left side of the bed, as if you've moved in your sleep to accommodate someone. you scowl and think that your asleep self should stop being so stupid. ..you make the bed just in case he really does decide to come back.

fourteen. your daughter. whenever you make yourself breakfast now, you keep accidentally making two bowls, the muscle memory automatic, familiar, and no longer needed. you sit down at the table and set the bowls and begin to eat, but you always end up just stirring the cereal with your spoon as you stare at the untouched bowl across from you. you always end up throwing them both away. without your input, a frown tugs slightly at your lips as your pour out the second bowl but you know that nobody else was even here to eat it anyway. your eyes burn.

fifteen. your daughter, the one you know isn't the real one. sometimes you walk down those train tracks where you found her, hoping she'll be here this time. she never is. ..you still keep checking, just in case.

[microvibing]

Wanted to share my aeolus design concept:))

Tried to make em all flowy n give them things that blow/make sound in the wind cuz yknow, wind god

ALSO the pigtails are the winions! They can separate from aeolus's hair and float around 2 bother ody!!

[t3chborb]

I'm one year older today, so I figured I gotta wrap a present or two~

.

..

...

... Wait...

... I got it backwards, didn't I...

... I'm supposed to be... uhh... the one opening gifts today...

... Oh, how incredibly silly of me...

Welp, I'm sure Ramattra doesn't mind~

[amusedphan]

i was humming off danandphilbeats lazy saturday and it occurred to me that it would be a sick beat to rap to. (i have never rapped before). and, uh. <3

(↑yewchube for views) also why is this the best keys solo i've done in my life

lyrics under readmore bc fuck knows i'm lyric blind at least (look at my double entendres boy):

paying bills with creativity is never quite the same

tear your soul apart and sell it to a demon known as fame

being thrust into the limelight, a martyr-turned-saint

we all want the sacrifice but no one wants the pain

o, holy, patron saint of the gaze

that we cast upon you, where we choose to erase

all that splits you in two—no longer abstruse

when we raze what we choose—until we relate to the

things that you do and the words that you say,

to the people you are - why, it’s better this way!

you can make no mistakes, you are toys for our play

we’ll give you our money for your lives as our pay

come change the precedent, come change the game

come change the meaning of love once again

don’t be so reticent, don’t be ashamed

we know what you’re feeling, we know everything

amen, two men, why’d i care about them?

were they my paper dolls, my imaginary friends?

well i loved them as a girl, now i love them as a man

open up can-a-di-can

i’m not a rapper, i’m a poet

so lemme pick these seeds of words and maybe then i’ll sow it

keep it down to earth with the way i’m hoein’ round

i’ve planted my ideas, now it’s time to break it down

[sick fl studio pack whirley solo break]

died for our sins, from our sins you arise

only truth in lion’s being part of a pride

this was not an accident, just a surprise

that we’ve never been alone when we’re different inside

trials and tribulations, you’ve bestowed us exaltations

more precious than all riches, you have given us hope

that has pulled us through the night, found us warmth, gave us light, even

living as an adult, when i find the need to cope, i’ll be

playin paper dolls on my lazy saturday

[nostis-omnia-perdet-omnia]

Alex Strider.

This is a character bio for Alex Strider.

Alex Strider is a human street-kid, born to Benjamin Strider and Abigail Strider. She was born in the Free City of Rooksbury, a city with no formal government, ruled mostly by gangs and plagued by roaming monsters and random violence. She had always been a smart child, and she was smart enough to notice her family’s financial struggles. But it didn’t matter, or so she thought, for they would be just fine, as long as they had each other.

Alex was only 11 years old when it happened. The Jackals, the gang that lorded over their part of the city, increased the rate of tribute again. They wanted 20% of all coin made by the little potion shop her parents ran. If they paid all that, they wouldn’t have enough to eat, thought Benjamin. He decided to hide some of the money, as to evade the hefty tax. The week after tribute was charged, his undead corpse was found aimlessly roaming the streets, the skin on its face removed, and a snarling jackal branded on its chest.

She had, as many broken children do, blamed herself. If they just had more money, if they had just paid their tribute, none of this would’ve happened. But she did not sit still, wallowing in guilt. Instead, she picked up the skills and mind of a thief; pick-pocketing strangers, pilfering from the city’s many markets... Over the course of a year, she stole her way through the city.

Alex was only 12 years old when it happened. She had come back home, pockets full of what did not belong to her, a particularly good haul, she thought. She noticed the smell of alcohol, and paid no mind to it-- she had become all too used to the scent of her mother’s drinking. She left what she had stolen at the door, and went to look for her mother. It was strange-- she had yet to receive her mother’s greeting, the one she always received. It didn’t take long for her to find her mother on the ground, surrounded by bottles and empty syringes. Alex would never find out if it was an accident or suicide.

Alex was now an orphan. She had no one nor where to turn to. She roamed the streets, living off of anything she could steal, never spending more than a night at the same place. She had seen the city inside and out; the siren-infested docks, the underground wizard colleges, the dwarven-elven race wars… She had also profited from it all; the city’s chaos was something that could be exploited for gain, she learned. This lasted for a little over a year. Eventually, she had a run-in with a newly formed “gang”: The Outlawz. In reality, it totaled to little more than a group of teenagers, desperate for some form of stability. Though hesitant, she joined the group. Together, they formed a new family, composed of bonds forged in crime. Now, she had moved from petty theft to something akin to grand larceny (though, there was no jurisdiction to define it as such; Rooksbury is a “free” city, after all). Drugs, jewelry, gold, and many other goods were acquired during the many heists of the Outlawz. After the hefty cut taken by the fence, the gang’s fees for operating on their turf, and the split between the 6 of them, they were left with very little. But it was enough. Alex found herself thinking something she didn’t expect to ever think again: they would be just fine, as long as they had each other.

Alex was only 15 when it happened. The Outlawz had decided it; they would find a way to leave this city, and they would do it together. To accomplish that goal, they planned a heist, one more ambitious than any that came before. Tantalus Inc., a megacorporation, part of the Demilian Conglomerate that controlled a nation’s worth of land, had its headquarters in Rooksbury. A shipment of arcane components worth more than all of their previous earnings combined had recently arrived, and if all went well, would “disappear” just as quickly. Six people walked into that tower. One, the traitor among them, stayed at that tower, taken in by the corporation he’d sold his family out to. One, Alex, left that tower, with scars both internally and externally. The other four were never seen again.

Alex was done being naïve. She was done trusting in others. She was done with this city, this gods-forsaken city… She was done with stealing. She made a choice. One she never thought she’d make. She fashioned a weapon out of a baseball bat and a piece of steel sharpened and shaped to become an axehead. She took all the money she had left and had it enchanted. And then, she signed a contract. A contract with Skulltrader. For 6 months, they provided her with shelter, food, clean water, and training. After that, she was officiated; as the youngest mercenary in Skulltrader’s ranks.

A 16-year-old murderer for hire. No one in their right mind would hire her on her own; she would almost exclusively get ride-along gigs, providing backup for other mercs. She sometimes talked to them. They sometimes even let her come along on the post-job tavern crawls. But even then, it was business. Just. Business.

She got her first kill when she was 17. She couldn’t sleep for weeks after the fact. The second was easier. She can barely remember the fourth or fifth. Eventually, she started getting solo gigs; private security, gang warfare, shake-downs… She even managed to buy a glyph implant, that was installed into her spine, allowing her superhuman speed. That kind of bio-enchant was expensive, but worth every coin. Killing became second nature to her. She was good at it. She didn’t enjoy it, but she didn’t care. It was them or her, after all.

4 years passed. This time, there was no “each other”. There was her, her bat, and the mana flowing through her spine. This city wasn’t going to get the best of her. She wouldn’t fall into its traps again. She wouldn’t let Rooksbury defeat her. She would survive, no matter what.

Alex Strider: Orphan, stone-cold killer, former sucker and merc extraordinaire. She knew better than most: This was No City for Heroes.

[karokawwo]

*bursts throughs doors* HUFFF HUFH UFFF UFHF HHH FHFU.... HA.. HAPPY.... HAPPY VERE DAY

[occulee]

《 No, I'm not listening. 》

I drew this slide for a powerpoint event with some friends, figured I should post it here! It's super rushed cause I had to do it the night before but hey at least it got finished in time

[astranauticus]

orv sketchdump while i try to recover from midterms burnout