#me and my friend were talking about modded lethal company

[names-neriah]

This will be ULTRAKILL in 1925

[ballcrusher74]

WOOOHOOOO IM ALLOWED TO ASK ALOT OF QUESTIONS YIPEEEE!!!!!

▪︎Do you have any fandom ocs but ARENT lethal company that youd ever like to talk about :0?

▪︎What ever happened to Jawbreaker's (your sona) homeplanet after he left, I remember the story was he was exceptional but insubordinate so like, did anyone get fired for letting that guy just scramble away

▪︎who is your favourite oc presently! :3 and have you any miscellaneous facts about them?

▪︎what's in the gyatt folder

▪︎ since Metronoia (I hope I spelled that right from memory) is a dimension/reality hopper, how does other realities effect his state of being, has there ever been a reality the guy found unpleasant or dare I say scary‼‼‼‼‼‼‼😲

CRAKCING FINGERS. YUES. I LOVE BEING AUTISTIC ABOUT MY OWN CHARACTERS.

Yes, I do ! I have some roblox ocs, two being for the game Regretevator ! Broseth is just a completely original guy that I had created based off one of my avatars, and Gamma Ray was kinda ... a shameless semi-self insert character to be buddies with one of my favorite characters in game (Mach)

I also have this guy, Tixton ! Based off the now deceased roblox currency, he was apart of a friend roblox oc group called Investors ! There's a long story to it all, but Tixton's whole deal was him being an undead ghost guy that was so hellbent on the idea of being alive again (he died with the removal of tix, and was young when that happened) that he basically tried to steal someone's body. I seem to have a liking for making undead / weirdly semi-undead characters, huh

Moving on from roblox, here's Bumbo ! A guy that was originally made for a fanbase I really don't wanna name, but has now been converted into a BBIEAL / Baldi mod oc ! Originally I was gonna kinda leave him the dirt after leaving aforementioned unnamed fandom, but my boyfriend helped me redesign him for his own Baldi mod / fangame ^_^ <3 Now he is my bumbling sweet baby boy

Now moving to . Ourple FNF ... ? There was this guy I created, Aerguhbee ! Though, I very much fell off of keeping up with Ourple / FNF stuff in general for a lot of reasons, I still kinda like this guy. He had a bit of a sloppy story, and it never really was even completed, but from what I remember- he was a trapped soul within a security monitor, killed in his place of work as a nightguard. The monitor served as an eternal purgatory for him called 'Moire Edge'. He was able to manifest a form outside of the monitor in order to lure others into his forever limbo, under the guise of becoming friends. If anything, I might just bring back this guy as a wholly original character since I do still kinda fuck with him

And, before going onto the next question (FINALLY), I'll throw in a bonus : Deacon originally wasn't LC related ! He was a Toontown : Corporate Clash oc, which is such a MAJOR contrast compared to how he is now LOL . I don't think he really had much of story when he was a TT:CC character, besides the fact of being secretly miserable about his job, but I think that's really it. I'll admit I kinda miss his really bright yellow, but I am so much more happier with him now (featuring my toon sona / oc in the last pic but this ain't about him)

As for Jawbreaker's home planet, they most likely are continuing on their lives as normal. Metsu probably does wonder where he went off to, but hey- not their problem anymore. As for what happened to the guards that failed to capture him again after his prison escape, they most likely were shattered (killed) and their resources recycled

THIS IS A TOUGH ONE. I think it's also just because all my original ocs are very personal to me and I genuinely treat them as parts of myself segmented into their own stories and worlds. Though, if I really have to pick one, I think it would be my art deity guy- which, I am kinda getting tired of just saying that, so I'll just say his name : Abstrakt Mondrian. He is very much an oc of mine that I hold close to my heart, especially considering his story deals with grief, and it almost sounds stupid to say he is an oc of mine that has helped me through a lot ? Also, design wise, I just really like him. Like, I'm not fucking joking when I say that I've had this guy for 4-ish years and his design has barely changed at ALL . It's crazy

Metanoia jumping to different dimensions does very much fuck up his appearance, and there have been a couple places he's found very dissatisfying or horrifying ! These dimensional distortions don't last whenever he exits the dimension that causes it, but it's not that pleasant for him in the moment. These distortions can range from very minimal things, things he can handle, such as a simple change of colors or height, to distortions that almost make him unrecognizable and feel uncomfortable in his own body. Here are some quick examples I did of those !

( Btw, distortions can be fucking crazy. The main thing about them is they could be literally any style and still work, so if anyone wants to take a crack at one you can literally go insane and do whatever LOL )

[pyrohonk]

Wrote something about what the experiences of the crew on my group's modded lethal company save would be like

------------------------------------------

The thing that struck me most was the desperation. Day in and day out, we risked our lives inside facilities that at any moment could become our eternal tomb. There was no hope, no saviours, no one would ever come for us, ever bury us. There was only the monsters.

First there was the hope, the joy of a flock of little bugs squeaking in excitement when they came across us. Then there was the nightmares, shadows in the halls, prickles along the back of our necks. We were terrified of the savage beasts who dragged themselves through the halls, tearing our friends and coworkers limb from limb In front our eyes.

Worse still were the abandoned husks of weapons of war, childishly mimicking regular objects. The maniquins that stalked us through the facilities, moving impossibly fast in the blink of the eye. The jack in the box that exploded into a mess of tendons and bone and pursued us unrelentingly, blasting a song from our childhood. It was freebird, my brother told me; he had remembered it from the days we used to listen to it together. We thought it might be merciful, even friendly. We lost 5 people that night, he was the first to fall. His screams agony intermingled with the lullaby of our past will haunt my waking moments for as long as i live.

As we danced along the edge of sanity, an even crueler development emerged. The monsters began to mimic our crew mates voice, talking to us in distorted recordings of conversations they could never have been present for. Once, a shadow in the darkest called out to me in my brother's voice, begging to me to come back to save him. As I turned, on the verge of tears and wracked with grief, I watched my coworker be twisted and wringed out, their neck snapping in an impossible direction by what seemed like the darkness itself.What amplified the horror even more was our desperate attempts to stay happy. The jokes, the pranks, the times spent spinning yarns and telling stories, we truly felt like for a moment we were untouchable, that we could be normal. Once, deep in the facility, we found a stray cat, and in the moment it was the best thing in the world. That was before it'd meowing attracted the dogs, who dragged slaughtered everyone left in the ship like animals. We never saw that cat again, we never got a chance to even name it.

What amplified the horror even more was our desperate attempts to stay happy. The jokes, the pranks, the times spent spinning yarns and telling stories, we truly felt like for a moment we were untouchable, that we could be normal. Once, deep in the facility, we found a stray cat, and in the moment it was the best thing in the world. That was before it'd meowing attracted the dogs, who dragged slaughtered everyone left in the ship like animals. We never saw that cat again, we never got a chance to even name it.

All of this; all this pain, all this horror, all this death, just to line a companies pockets as they threatend murder us all in one foul swoop if we ever failed to meet our quota. This never ends, every time it's higher, harder, ever more demanding. It's alright though. The good times with these doomed men is all I could ask for with the blood of my brother stained to my hands. We love the company, the company, the company!

[scouttf2isnamedafterjerma]

tl;dr: i got banned for being autistic (maybe? its still not clear?) long version: so, context, disgrub is a homestuck rp server. i was playing dave strider, with a penchant for compressing audio and images and videos to absolutely unparasble levels of crust. i also got into two arguments in my time there, one a blurred lines between in and ooc argument between me and a jake english about him going on a solo adventure in co-op game lethal company, and another a fully ooc spat about nationality jokes. both arguments had bad moves from both sides, and both arguments were resolved amicably after a few hours apart from eachother with no bad blood (to my knowledge). one time i sent cropped quotes of fanfic "venti gets gangbanged while explaining why nfts are bad" as we were talking about genshin impact in vc. no nsfw material was left in the crop and when mods told me sto stop i did immediately. i am also quite severely autistic. the context might seem disjointed and that's because the ban reasons are just as disjointed. i left work one day to find this in my dms.

i'd had no prior warnings from any mods, i just went straight from "yeah everythings cool man dw" to permanent ban. this is the first ban reason. i still don't know what the third point refers to, and never got a clarification. i was confused about being banned out of nowhere after being assured by a mod earlier that day that everything was cool and i wasn't in any trouble or anything after i checked if i'd gone too far with anything recently (i do this sometimes because Autism means i dont pick up on more subtle cues of discomfort), so i tried to find out what was going on. after about an hour of communicating with the mods via a third party (which was really stressful and disorienting in itself), i finally got a direct dm from a mod

this is the second ban reason, and the one i'm the most inclined to believe. (there weren't even ten people who used vc. im prone to saying similar accidental exaggerations so im not saying they were lying i just thought it was worth noting)

i will admit that, as previously mentioned, i do have Severe Autism so i could've been making people uncomfortable and not realising, but i never tried to make uncomfortable and any time i thought i mightve i went ooc and apologised for doing so and if someone went ooc and asked me to cut something out i did so instantly. anyway, this sucks, but at least i know what's up now. except no, apparently they gave two entirely different reasons about why i was banned in the server itself (different from either of the reasons above). according to one of my friends from the server it was because i went ooc too much, and according to another it was because i pushed the low quality mic bit too far despite being told to stop (i was told to stop once by a mod, who was in character and so i thought it was just a rp thing) being banned is sucks already cause it was a really cool and fun place to be in, but the constant confusion about the ban reason just makes it worse because either the mod team doesn't know what i did wrong and every mod has a different idea of what happened, or the mod team knows banning me for being autistic to be around in vc isn't good for their image so theyre lying about it in server. i want to believe it's the former because in my other interactions with the mods they seem like nice people, but even that speaks to a worrying level of uncoordination. and then just as im starting to get over this i see another post on my dashboard and now im back to the stress and confusion and sadness again.

just saw a disgrub post from an account i forgot to unfollow, day ruined

[fallenhero-rebirth]

OUT OF CANON BACKGROUND SNIPPETS.

Since people were asking in the discord, some old Ortega/Steel snippets from before they got yanked into the Fallen Hero universe. Not canon, just inspiration. From the same universe as the JUMP one before, back when Los Diablos was still in ruins, before it became Fallen Hero. Also, this is TEN YEARS OLD so my writing was fuuucked.

One:

The wind howled murder in Ortega's dreams, tonight like every night.

"Come on Ortega, move your feet, the day ain't getting any younger." Marek was all smile and camera, and there was no turning back now. He had to make the jump.

There was a feel of crumbling rocks beneath his feet as he threw himself off the edge of the cliff, the ruins far below greeting him with concrete teeth. Base jumping was a thrill, the first moment of freefall a kiss snatched from death's cold lips. He knew he should have prayed, but he'd left all faith behind him long ago. These days, his gods were ones of preparation and caring for your equipment.

Behind him, rocks cascaded down the uneven cliff face, a stampede of debris racing him towards the ground below.

Falling.

Weightless.

The wind roaring in his ears and his heartbeat so loud it hurt.

And then the chute snapped open, tearing him sideways, away from the cliff, away from the falling rocks, away to safety and a glorious descent and a rush of adrenaline that nearly dampened the pain as the wind slapped him in the face and smashed him into the rocks.

That day death hadn't been satisfied with just a kiss, she had wanted to go second base. And Ortega had ended up broken and trapped in a bed, surrounded by wheezing machines, waking from dreams recapturing his last moment of freedom.

...

"Move your left toe, please." Dr Burton said the words blandly, like she had a dozen times before, leaning over the man on the table.

He was lying limp, like a filleted fish, the healing flesh on his back parted to reveal the grafts all along his back. Titanium fused with plasteel, faintly glowing cords and connections burrowing into the bone to make up for neural connections lost in the accident that had smashed so much of his spine. It was a work of art and wonder, military cybernetic technology adapted to a less lethal use. If only she could make it work.

"Still nothing," Ortega said, watching the floor.

Not dirty.

Nothing here was dirty.

He hadn't seen a speck of dust since he had woken up here, no doubt thanks to his father pulling strings. Again. Patching up his wayward son. Trying to make him walk once more. They had an awkward reunion after he had regained consciousness, his father looming in the background, impassive in his uniform. Such a shield it was to hide behind. His mother had been on her knees by the bed, praying, thanking the Lord for saving her son's life.

In his opinion, the Lord had little to do with it. It was his friends that had managed to get him down and keep him alive until help got there. He'd asked what become of them, but they had been found in a restricted area. Los Angeles was in ruins after the Big One and anybody who came there without permission were trespassers. Possible looters. Maybe his friends were let go. Maybe they were doing jail time. He had no way of knowing. Nobody would even answer his questions. His friends were as lost as his own mobility.

...

His spine whirred, and that was a sound a body was not supposed to make. Standing up hurt, every muscle ached as Ortega leaned on the handrails, forcing himself to stand.

"Move your feet," Sammy said, his physical therapist refusing any other form of addressing him. "It's not that hard."

"Says the man without the metal eel pretending to be a spine." No, Ortega thought to himself. An eel was the wrong word. His first thought when he had seen the spine all rolled up on the table before him was that it had been a snake, ready to strike. And now it had, inserting itself into his flesh, bonding with his bones, theoretically making him all that he had been and a lot more.

Freak.

Experiment.

Military property.

"You're only going to tire yourself out if you keep standing there." Sammy placed a hand on his shoulder, making Ortega flinch a little. "I know it hurts. I know things need time to heal. But you need to start moving for that to happen."

"Bit too valuable to be left in the bed now, am I?" There was a hint of bitterness to his voice as he moved his left foot forward, letting his weight come down on it.

Blinding pain shot through his body, but his knees didn't buckle. The whirring shifted in tone, and his body held. The next step was easier, the spine adjusting, microscopic chipbrains memorizing stance and weight. It hurt, but he could walk. He actually could put one foot in front of the other again.

Right then and there, that moment that felt like a bigger achievement than any of his many jumps.

Two:

"We're going back, you know." Chen held up the pads so Ortega could throw another punch.

"Going back where? Panama?" Ortega punched and shifted his balance, the soft whirr of his implants nearly imperceptible. Or perhaps he was simply getting used to them. The scars had faded to an angry red by now, and his body was adapting. Good as new. No, better than new.

"Hell no, I hope not. Los Angeles." Captain Wei Chen was a veteran of Panama, and in the military hospital for much the same reason as Ortega. A broken body fixed by state of the art technology, the difference being that Chen was military through and through, and Ortega was here because his father had pulled some favors.

"Don't you mean Los Diablos? That's what everybody calls it these days."

Whoever chose to rename Los Angeles after the Big One was not far off. The quakes had ripped the entire west coast to shreds. Cities burned, millions died, and when the smoke had cleared the name had stuck. Los Diablos. At first the government had tried to rebuild what had been lost, but as the aftershocks continued and the years passed, a crashing economy forced the politicians to focus on salvaging the heartland and the east.

How the west was lost. Not a catchy title for a movie in a country used to winning.

"Yeah, whatever smartass, hit me harder. I know you can." Chen clapped the pads together, then held them up again.

"Quit giving me orders, I'm not in the army." Ortega hit the pads despite his complaints, because it felt good. It felt good to move, to be able to sweat and train and not be looking forward to a lifetime in bed.

"Might as well be, I know how these contracts work. The military own your sorry ass now. Unless you want back in that chair."

"No way." Hard punches, sweat stinging his eyes.

"Then you play ball." Pads removed, a towel tossed instead.

"I never was much for playing ball." Ortega wiped his face with a grimace.

"So I've been told. They're gonna offer you a shot at joining the team anyway."

"What team?" Ortega asked, by now actually curious to what the other man was angling for. "Not football I hope."

"I wish," Chen said with a laugh. "No chance to join the league for us Mods."

"Ugh, I hate that nickname. Modified humans. Makes me feel like a car or something, and you still haven't told me what you're angling for." He dropped the towel, popping his neck a little. The cybernetic joints still felt slightly off, but he was moving smoother by the day.

"Not me. Them. The Government. They've dropped the quarantine, and are renaming the areas affected by the quake the 'Free Territories'."

"A catchy name is not going to make people move back there. Last I saw, there was not much left standing." Last thing he had seen had been a fabulous sunset from the Hollywood Cliffs, the ruined skyscrapers leaning drunkenly against the encroaching sea.

"Oh it's more than a catchy name. It's free of government control. Free of taxes. Free of police. Free of pesky environmental regulations. The new west, like the old west if you believe the slogans. I hear companies are already moving into the less destroyed areas. And with companies come roads, electricity and jobs."

"Jesus," Ortega said, looking at Chen as if he couldn't quite believe his words. "It's gonna be dog eat dog out there."

"It sure will be. But with the economy crashing and unemployment being what it is, there's enough people willing to take a chance that they can build a future for themselves. It's the American dream after all. And with Asia finally regulating things, there's few places left where anything goes."

"They sure got you drinking the Kool Aid. And what were you talking about before? About the government and joining teams?"

"Companies ain't gonna bother with things like police or firemen, there's going to be private security forces for their facilities and to hell with the rest. The military's been asked to help put together a special task force of people charged with keeping the peace."

"Because military rule has always been such a grand idea." Ortega walked over to the treadmill, striking up a steady pace. He was still getting used to the new weight of his body and the way his implants handled. Maybe he was more like a sports car than he liked to admit.

"I said the military's been asked to help." Chen leaned against the wall, settling for watching. "It's gonna be an autonomous organization, deputized directly by the president. More like the Marshals of old than navy seals."

"And they want me in? Forgive me if I sound a bit disbelieving."

"Oh trust me, if the military had a choice, this would all be staffed by trusted officers, but the President is keen on making this an independent organization. He wants civilians too. And you're already sort of famous after your daredevil exploits. You're a perfect candidate."

"Yeah, right," Ortega said with the deepest of cynical looks.

"I'm serious. It will be a team consisting only of Enhanced, don't tell me you'll back away from a shot at being a legit hero? And it will get you out of here."

Ortega stopped jogging, catching his breath. He was covered in sweat and far too out of shape, but he knew that would change in time. He wanted out of here any way possible, and if this was a way out without living in crippling debt for the rest of his life… could he afford to refuse? He'd never really considered any real career in life if you didn't count crazy stunts, but living on the edge meant you had an expiration date, and this… he hated to admit it, but it spoke to the twelve year old in him. The part of him that thought it was fun to fling oneself off tall buildings for sport. What did he have to lose anyway? Except his life, and he was already prepared to risk that on a daily basis. Had nearly gotten killed more than once. And this? A shot at respectability? At fame? At a limelight far shinier than he could ever have hoped for before?

"What the hell," he begun, shrugging a little. "I am in."

Three little words. Changing his future.

Three:

The hangar was flooded with lights, the air filled with the sharp, acrid stench of spray paint. In the middle of the floor loomed a massive suit of armor, a decommissioned military model with the weaponry removed and replaced with non-lethal varieties. It still towered over the head of the two people eying their handiwork, facemasks pushed up now that the worst chemicals had dissipated.

"Looking good," the tall woman said, hair tightly tied down by a shawl to protect it from the paint.

"A work of art," Ortega agreed, pulling his gloves off.

The armor said nothing. Without a pilot to bring its cybernetic systems to life it was looped in standby mode, ready for action at a moment's notice. A small light started to blink on the helmet, reacting to the presence of said pilot.

"Uh oh," Ortega said, just a moment before Chen barged past, pushing them both aside so he could get a look at his baby.

"I can't believe you did this!" the former soldier complained, about to touch the armor before he realized that the paint was still wet. "How could you?"

"It wasn't easy. Luckily Ayesha rigged us up a sandblaster so we could get down to the plasteel." Ortega gestured to the tall woman and tried to continue to explain, because it had been a lot harder than he had anticipated. But Jake interrupted.

"That's not what I meant! My armor... it's blue."

"And gold," Ayesha supplied helpfully.

"We thought about white, but decided that would get dirty right away."

"You're wearing white," Ayesha pointed out.

"That is because I am smooth," Ortega preened. "And it's mostly blue."

"You are so full of yourself. You just want to stand out the most."

She laughed and hit Ortega on the arm, something which made him wince. Unlike the men, she did not owe her status on the team to technology, but to drugs. And in that particular lottery of death or debilitation, she had hit the jackpot. Stronger than a bull, faster than a striking snake and able to take a point blank shot and be able to complain about it afterwards.

"No, I swear, it's a theme," he defended himself, rubbing his arm. "Lightning is sort of bluish white, and I run on electricity so..."

"Excuses, excuses, you're such a narcissist Ricardo."

"You painted my armor?" Chen finally managed to get out, having completed a full circle around his suit. "Why for the love of God would you do such a thing?"

"Because we're not military," Ortega said, their old arguments coming back for another round, the military man and the thrill-seeker, united for a common cause. "We have to look the part. We can't walk in like paramilitary forces and expect to be treated like proper law enforcement."

"Hence the police blue," Ayesha supplied.

"The gold is pure flash though. We can't just be cops. We have to be more." Ortega had spent a lot of time thinking about this, thinking about what impression they had to make. He had talked about it at length with Marek, and as the filmmaker had said, they couldn't allow themselves to be goons. They had to be more. They had to be heroes.

"It was a perfectly sensible camouflage." Chen kept walking around his armor, the helmeted head shifting slowly in response to his actions, close enough for the sensory weave to pick up his distress.

"We are supposed to be seen, not hiding." Ayesha stripped off the coveralls that covered her own suit, a protective nanomesh weave of the kind that had been used as the basis of space suits before earth became too much of a problem to be able to afford such flights of fancy. It was boldly blue and red, as much of a statement as the woman herself.

"Face it Wei, you're not in the military anymore." Ortega couldn't help it; the look on Chen's face was just too funny. Of all the indignities his friend had expected to endure here in their improvised base, having to deal with a repainted armor was apparently not one of them

"And you are not the leader of this merry outfit," he snapped, poking a finger in Ortega's chest. "I can't believe Marshal Burke authorized this."

"Authorized it? He thought it was a brilliant idea. Even the code names."

"Codenames?"

"You're Sergeant Steel, Ayesha is Sentinel and I am Charge." Ortega wasn't too happy, he'd spent last night tossing names back and forth with Ayesha, but none had really seemed to fit. This would have to do for now, maybe he would grow into it.

"How come I'm just a Sergeant?" Chen asked, momentarily distracted from his armor. "That's lower than my actual rank."

"Ahah!" Ayesha said, sliding up next to the man, looking like a lioness leaning in for a bite. "I told you he'd come around to the idea. And it's not about rank. It's about alliteration. Unless you want to be named something else?"

"I... don't want to be named anything at all, we could have proper codenames."

"Nobody is going to ask Bravo-6 to get a kitten down from a tree." To his credit, Ortega managed to say that with a completely straight face,

"There are no kittens in trees here anymore," Chen argued. "The city is wrecked!"

"My point still stands."

"Fine. I suppose it will have to do."

Capitulation at last, and it was all that Ortega could do not to rub his hands. Marek had been right; the lure of being something grander than what they really were was a seductive one. Why be a peacekeeping force, or government watchdogs when they could be heroes? Why have utilitarian outfits like the military when they could be larger than life? They were after all, all of them changed into something more than human. Enhanced.

It wasn't narcissism, it was just common sense.