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the-marshals-wife · 23 days ago

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Rookie Jitters (Wolf Jackson x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

A/N: Happy Halloween! 🎃 Besties, I didn't even plan this one ahead of time. I watched Beetlejuice Beetlejuice for the third time, and the inspiration struck. This one's for the Willem Dafoe girlies. You always keep it real. ;)

Description: Wolf Jackson x Fem!Reader, meet-cute fluff with a light sprinkling of angst | Warnings: death mentioned many times (nothing graphic, mostly humorous), guns mentioned, canon-typical creepiness of the Neitherworld | Setting: post Beetlejuice Beetlejuice | Word count: 2,266

Imagine being Wolf Jackson's new secretary, and being nervous to meet him

If your heart could still beat, it would have stopped. You stare at the yellowed paper in your hand that detailed your new job description, and your eyes lock on the name of your boss.

"I'm working for Wolf Jackson? The Wolf Jackson?!" you gape.

The poorly mummified woman across the desk doesn't look up from her clipboard. She slides a folder towards you, and you resist the urge to recoil at her half-decayed arm.

"I don't know who that is. I just hand out the forms. All the details will be in your file," she replies placidly. "Says here you're being assigned to the Afterlife Crimes Unit."

"Crimes Unit? I think there's been some sort of mistake. I'm not in law enforcement."

"Look lady, whatever the paper says, that's where you gotta go. I don't make the rules," she dismisses, pointing with her boney finger, "You go out that door, down the hall, third door on the left, down the stairs, and take the second right. Big doors, you can't miss it. If you wind up in Lost and Found, you went too far."

You nod, trying to absorb the directions as your head swam with new information.

"Could...you maybe write it down for me?" you ask.

The clerk looks over her glasses at you in silence.

You smile nervously, rising from your seat, "Nevermind. I'm sure I'll find it."

Hurriedly gathering up all your paperwork into your arms, you make your exit from the office before the woman's glare could kill you a second time.

While you navigate the dim, winding passages, your thoughts return your destination, and who you might find waiting there. Was your new boss actually Wolf Jackson? Frank Hardballer himself? You seriously consider pinching yourself.

'Figures,' you think, 'I had to die to have the best day of my life.'

After what felt like an eternity of walking through the most otherworldly funhouse imaginable, you take the second right and lay eyes on the big doors. As you read 'Police Precinct 515' painted in black letters above them, the knots in your stomach multiply.

"This must be it," you sigh, clutching the papers to your chest.

You swallow hard, gather the remains of your courage, and walk inside the station with your head held as high as you can manage.

The officer behind the front desk looks up immediately. "Can I help you, miss?"

"Uh, yes. I'm looking for the Afterlife Crimes Unit?" you answer, approaching the intimidatingly tall bench.

"They send you from Orientation?"

His friendly demeanor catches you off guard.

"I think so," you answer, peering up at him, "To be honest, they haven't told me much since I got here. Just one person after another shoving papers at me."

Despite feeling like you'd already been here for a lifetime, you still weren't used to being among so many dead people. It didn't even seem real yet that you were one of them, although that was certain to come with time. The officer's skin is almost the same shade of blue as his uniform, and his features are unnervingly sunken in, but cadaverous countenance aside, he has a kind look that puts you somewhat at ease.

"Things can be pretty nuts around here, but you'll get used to it," he smiles, standing up straight, "You must be the new secretary for the ACU. Last one caught the Soul Train this mornin'. I feel for Jackson, though. I don't think she had the heart to tell him."

"You mean he doesn't know?" you ask.

The officer winces. "I guess you'll find out. It's just down the hall there, first door on the right."

You refrain from rolling your eyes at more verbal directions, just grateful to have spoken to someone pleasant.

"Thank you," you say, glancing down at your heels, "I'm starting to think I should have died in more comfortable shoes."

The officer chuckles. "Good luck to you, miss."

Your focus shifts from the throbbing in your ankles to shaking in your limbs as your nerves return full force. It didn't seem fair that you could still have anxiety in the afterlife, but it would take more than the cold hands of death to calm you in this moment.

As you reach the door and grab the handle, you hear a muffled voice from the other side.

You tread lightly into the room and carefully close the door behind you, not wanting to intrude. Through the cracked blinds, you see a figure pacing frantically in the office ahead of you.

"This is unreal," the man laments, "Where could she be?"

You freeze in your steps, recognition washing over you. You would know the voice of Frank Hardballer anywhere. There wasn't a single Saturday night in your father's house that you hadn't heard it blaring from the television set, accompanied by all the gunfire and explosions required of a true blue, B-grade cop film. It was really him.

Steeling yourself, you walk towards doorway. The clicking of your heels on the vinyl floor announces your presence, and you utter a prayer not to trip over your blistered feet.

"Janet?" you hear him call out as you step into view.

There he is. Leaning over his desk, concern written all over his face, Wolf Jackson stares back at you.

The grim reaper himself couldn't steal your excitement away.

You open your mouth, and a mess of words comes out. "Um, excuse me, sir? A-are...I'm, uh-"

He waves you away, cutting off your stammering. "I'm sorry, miss. You'll have to come back another time. My secretary's up and disappeared. I gotta start a missing persons report."

"Um, about that, sir" you begin, clinging to your paperwork as he riffles through a pile of folders, "I believe I'm your new secretary."

He stops and looks back at you, visibly stunned. "What happened to Janet?"

"I think the person I'm replacing got on the Soul Train this morning," you hesitate, unsure what that even was. "I'm sorry, that's all I know."

"I didn't know her time was up," he says, bewildered, "She never told me."

His confused expression turns somber as he puts his hands in his pockets and walks over to the nearest window. "She didn't even say goodbye," he continues, sighing heavily, "But that's the way things go in this crazy world of ours. Here one minute, gone the next."

A long pause follows as you stand motionless in the doorway, suddenly feeling like you're intruding on a private moment.

"Here's looking at you, kid," he declares, proceeding to turn swiftly on his heel. Every trace of sadness was gone, replaced with a smile. "Where are my manners? Come in, come in."

Your stomach is teeming with butterflies as you officially enter the room. He eagerly goes to meet you, hand extended.

"Wolf Jackson, Afterlife Crimes Unit," he introduces.

You shake his hand, trying desperately to keep your composure.

"I'm Y/N. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," you grin.

"The pleasure is all mine, Y/N," he says "It's not every day you get to meet a new face down here. Least of all one as wonderfully intact as yours."

You could sense the compliment in his unusual words. Thankfully, it didn't seem the dead could blush, because your cheeks would surely be betraying you now. Finally standing before him, you're unable to conceal your admiration any longer.

"I can't believe I'm actually getting to meet you, sir. I am such a big fan."

His eyes light up instantly. "You don't say!"

"It's true! My dad and I used to watch your movies all the time. We absolutely loved them," you beam, heart swelling.

Wolf appears as thrilled to hear your words as you are to say them. "Don't that beat all. It's been so long since I've gotten to talk to someone who knows my work," he marvels.

"I think know every line of every Frank Hardballer movie by heart. I've seen them all more times than I can count." Your starstruck smile fades a little as you speak again, "We were devastated when we heard about your accident. That day was one of the only times I ever saw my dad cry."

"Well, I bet he'd be pretty jazzed to see you now," he offers, rushing to clarify, "Not being dead, of course. But you know, working for me...with me. Working with me."

You stifle a laugh as he fumbles his words.

"I know what you meant, sir. You're right. He would be over the moon."

Somehow, this surreal moment was the least strange thing to happen to you so far. One of your biggest idols was just as excited to meet you as you were to meet him. His injuries were not as bad as you'd expected either. The way the media had made it sound all those years ago, you thought for sure he'd been blown to smithereens. Not only was he just as handsome in person, but his presence felt familiar. You could sense your worry fading away, and for the first time since you'd arrived in this unsettling place, you felt safe.

"At any rate, the first day down here is always the hardest," he remarks, "Here, rest for a minute. Put down all that nonsense you're carrying. If you've got questions, I'll tell you what you want to know. You're not gonna find any straight answers in those ridiculous 'onboarding' pamphlets."

He motions to the empty chair by the window nearest his desk, and you're happy to oblige, your arms well-past the point of cramping.

"Thank you, sir." You take the seat and set the papers aside.

Wolf steps over to the front of his desk and leans his weight on it, shaking his head in apparent amusement.

"So formal," he chuckles, "Enough with this 'sir' business. Just call me Wolf."

"Really?" you question, wide-eyed, "I mean, you're still my boss, aren't you?"

"Death makes equals of us all," he states candidly, "But, if you'd prefer, Mr. Jackson works just fine too."

Despite having his permission, it felt unnatural to use his first name. Not yet, anyway. "You're the boss, Mr. Jackson."

He nods in approval. "That'll do." His gaze falls to the floor a moment before he talks again, "Speaking of death...how is it you came to be here, Y/N? If you don't mind me asking, that is. Although I didn't exactly have the luxury of discretion myself, discussing it can be personal for some people, and I respect that."

"I don't mind," you begin, frowning as you recall your own demise, "It all happened so fast, honestly. One minute I was walking home with my best friend from her birthday dinner, and then out of nowhere this big guy with a gun jumps out from behind a truck and starts yelling at us to hand over everything we have. I don't know what I was thinking. I just...reacted."

You pause as the vivid memory flashes through your mind.

"I threw my bag at his face and tried to get the gun away from him. It fell to the ground, and I just remember jumping on his back and screaming at my friend to run. It was stupid, I know. I just didn't want her to get killed. She's like family to me," you explain solemnly, finally looking up and meeting Wolf's intent gaze, "The last thing I remember was the guy throwing me into a wall. I guess I hit it pretty hard, because everything went black. Next thing I know, I'm waking up in the DMV from hell. Nothing but waiting in lines and filing out a thousand forms that I don't understand."

Wolf snickers at your description, and you follow suit before going on.

"I know at least some of them were about job placement, because that's how I got sent here. And there you have it. That's my story. Not exactly Hollywood worthy," you declare with a shrug.

"Are you kidding? That was an incredibly brave thing you did," he insists.

"Thank you," you reply, smiling unconvincingly.

"I mean it. That took guts," he says, shaking his fist in affirmation, "I play the hero. But what you did for your friend? That's what real heroes do."

You could see in his eyes that he meant every word. Even without a pulse, you could swear you felt your heart pounding.

"Well, if I've learned anything from Frank Hardballer, you gotta keep it real."

Wolf claps his hands together and jumps up, grinning ear to ear. "Now that's what I like to hear!"

You can't help but laugh at his enthusiasm.

"What do you say to a little scenery? How about I give you a tour of the station, introduce you to some of the boys around here, and we'll get you all settled," he suggests, already leading the way.

"That sounds great," you answer, standing up to follow, "But while I'm keeping it real, Mr. Jackson, I have to tell you that I don't have any experience being a secretary. Undead or otherwise," you admit.

He stops in the doorway and turns back, giving you a sly look, "And I don't have any experience being a cop."

"That's true," you concede, "but I'm not an accomplished actor like you."

The notion gives him pause for only a moment.

"Well, can you make a cup of coffee?"

You chuckle, "I think I can manage that."

A smirk of satisfaction spreads across his face.

"Honey, you're gonna do just fine."

#wolf jackson x reader #wolf jackson #wolf jackson imagine #willem dafoe #wolf jackson x y/n #beetlejuice beetlejuice #beetlejuice fanfic #beetlejuice x reader #beetlejuice imagine #my writing #no hate to my girl janet she just had to be gone so reader could have a chance 😆

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mightwritesometimes · 1 month ago

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Call Me A...

18+ MDNI

You tell your asshole boyfriend you've got a thing for homophobia.

(masc reader, NSFW, homophobia, consensual homophobia, f slur- many times, physical violence, inappropriate use of pillow,)

Also if you don't want this don't read it.

Ignoring the tadc censors for this.

Aprx 2.3k words. Cross-posted on ao3 under ThroughTheRabbitHole

A/N: sticking to the canon of tadc characters not having genitals (so reader doesn't get any either) but I'm still making between the legs an erogenous zone.

You and Jax usually sleep together in his room. It's essentially routine for you to head to his room instead of yours.

Jax can feel how tense you are right now, against his body with your head on his shoulder, and look at you, all nervous and jittery, if you've got something to say, spit it out already.

But hey, he's not gonna start pressing you about your problems, if you've got some inner turmoil going on he doesn't need to have some stupid touchy feely talk with you. What's it to him if you're all fidgety beside him? He doesn't care.

He's been blatantly eyeing you this whole time, noting your behaviour.

But so what? He could probably pass out right now. Get some sleep- not that he needs it. He doesn't need to deal with you right now.

The room's kind of bright though, and really, look at you. He moves for a better view of your face and you really look like there's words stuck on your tongue. Okay, he's curious.

"You gonna spit it out or what?"

Your eyes widen slightly. You thought you could feel him staring at you. You breathe in and sit up, you only meet his eyes for a second before nervously looking away. He only looks up at you, one eyebrow raised, still half laying down.

You really do want to tell him. He can be such a dick but that's kind of the idea, so he could be so perfect for this- but on the other hand- he can be such a dick. You shut your eyes and sigh like you're bracing yourself. You open your eyes and face him, he is far more relaxed than you.

"I was just thinking... Y'know like... If you'd be into it, you could like..."

Oh. This isn't touchy feelings shit. Jax's ear left twitches at your words and demeanor. You're shy. Aww.

Suddenly his body language is mirroring his interest in this. Suddenly he's right up next to you with his shit eating grin.

"I could what?" You look away and roll your eyes at the stupid look on his stupid, irritating face.

"Maybe, under certain bedroom circumstances, you could call me..."

"What? A whore? A good boy? My- "

"Stop. Guessing."

"Aww, don't pretend you don't like being a good little bitch. C'mon. Who's a good boy?" He is so. Not. Funny. And also probably not joking. God, he's not gonna shut up, you can see him about to open his mouth again. Does this have to be so embarrassing? Just bite the bullet already, just tell him you-

"Call me a faggot." Yeah, like that. You cringe at the way you squeaked out your sentence and take a look at Jax's expression. He's not saying anything. Why isn't he saying anything? And why does he look so taken aback by that? He could try looking a little less stunned.

He bursts out laughing.

Swell.

"What?" He sounds far too amused with this.

"Well... Don't laugh. Dick." At least one of you is having a great time with this.

"You want me to-!"

"Okay! Nevermind, I take it back, fuck off." You don't actually think you can take it back, right?

No, this is too good for him to let go.

"No, please, keep going. I wanna hear about your hate crime fantasy."

"Shut up. I don't want you to fucking hate crime me, just... some homophobia. Directed at me."

"You've got problems, y'know that?" What you have is a specific scratch you want him to itch, is that too much to ask? Is he going to do it or not? You don't really want to have to ask. Again. "Okay, go on then, tell me about it. Is your gay boyfriend being gay not gonna ruin the fantasy, sweetheart?"

Somehow sweethearts never sounded sweet from his mouth. But he's really asking about it right? He's not making fun of you? Well, no, he's definitely making fun of you, but he's not just making fun of you?

Your annoyed expression is one of his favorite looks on you.

"For this... Particular fantasy," His smile's tugging at his lips and you glare at him before deciding you'll be looking straight ahead at the wall for the rest of this. "I would obviously prefer it, if you could not be my boyfriend and be more like, some straight guy I want to fuck, and who... I guess... is down to use me."

You take a look back at Jax to see how he's reacting and this time he's at least making an attempt at holding back his laughter.

"You mean a homophobic straight guy, right?" He's not trying that hard. Amusement and joy echos through every word he says.

"It's not funny, Jax!"

"Maybe not to you." He pokes your chest. "But I didn't ask for the opinion of some queer with a pathetic little crush on me, did I?" He gets off the bed and circles around to you.

Okay... So this is- you guys are doing this then?

"I- I don't..."

"Don't what? Have a pathetic crush on me? You're in my bed right now." Right. You're in his bed. And he's not anymore. "Did you come in here just to sniff at my sheets?" He accuses with a smirk.

Okay. this is what you're doing then. This is... sudden. But he's giving you what you asked for. Suddenly you feel like you shouldn't be in his bed, you jump out of it and now Jax is just a step away from you.

"N- no, I was just- I was..." He grabs you and swings you face first into a wall, holding your hands behind your back.

"You were just perving on me, weren't you faggot?" Your mouth falls open and you whimper. Arousal is making something in your circus body feel needy. He quickly pulls you away from the wall just a little so he can push you back on. "Weren't you?"

"I- yes." Your admission is quiet and ashamed. He spins you to look at him and hold your hands over your head.

"Because you're a pathetic faggot." You look down, not wanting to meet his eyes. An unaware observer might mistake your meek demeanor and uneven breathing for fear, but Jax knows what it really is. "Say it."

He picks you up by your wrists, holding them against the wall. It hurts. The pressure on your wrists and the weight on your shoulders.

"I'm a pathetic faggot." You rush out the words wanting to be put down. He lets go of your wrists and stands beside you as your feet hit the ground, so he can push you to your hands and knees while you're trying to catch your balance.

"That's right. And fags like you belong on their knees." His playful tone's malicious and you're eating it up.

You feel his foot hit your stomach hard and he does not go easy on you. Pain eats at your abdomen. You bring a hand up to try soothing the pain- and to protect yourself from another hit- but he kicks you in the side toppling you over. It wasn't as hard as the first kick, just hard enough to have you laying on the ground clutching your stomach and side.

He spits a command at you. "I said." He sits on his bed facing you. "On your knees."

You bring yourself to your knees in front of him, but can't bring yourself to meet his gaze. You have a pissed off expression but no objections. He likes seeing you hold your tongue like that. "Yeah, there's a good boy." He pets your head like a dog.

Your stomach is still aching and you take a breath through the pain. He pulls his hand away and his pseudo affection is gone. "Now. I want an apology. For you being a pervy little faggot."

"I'm sorry." Your still small voice has an air of stubbornness to it. Still irritable from the pain. He likes that. You pretending to be prideful. You can spike your tone with resistance all you want, but you're still not dignified enough to actually defy him, are you?

"For?" Yeah, you should have seen that coming. You swallow your pride if you have any left.

"I'm sorry. For being a pervy faggot." His body language is so relaxed and comfortable.

"Hm. Why? I mean you're not only sorry because I caught you right? You know why it's wrong then? Tell me why you're sorry for being a pervy little faggot." Is rubbing salt in the wound some kind of sport Jax could try out for?

"Because- "

"From the top."

Right.

"I'm sorry... For being, a pervy faggot. Because." You need to pause for a minute. Jax just looks at you expectantly with that smug look on his face. "Because. It was wrong of me, to invade your space for my own perverted agenda."

"That's right. It's not my fault you have this pathetic obsession with me. What were you even doing? I bet you wanted to get off in my bed, huh freak?" He punctuates freak with his foot tapping your forehead. "Here." He reaches his long arm over and snatches a pillow to toss at you.

It lands in your lap and you look up at him.

"go ahead. You wanna get off on my stuff don't you? You can use my pillow but I'm not letting you do your faggot shit on my bed."

His sadistic grin grows as you slowly take the pillow and position it between your legs. You look off to the side and slowly rock into it, gripping it tight. Jax starts laughing as you start moving.

"You can't be this desperate, you're actually doing that right now? In front of me?" You want to pick up your pace but you don't want to look any more needy than you already do. "C'mon, hump that pillow like it's my leg."

Like it's his leg.

You already were going to have to start putting more into it, but it might have been a little less embarrassing had it not coincided with his command.

Your eyes shut and you're trying not to focus on anything but the feeling of grinding into his pillow, and trying not to think about how he must be looking at you with all the little sounds you're making.

Times like this remind you of certain changes to your body. It can make things a little trickier sometimes. At this point you're trying so hard and you probably look so pathetic, squirming and panting like that, and the pillow is proving to be an insufficient means of achieving what's close to an orgasm in the digital circus.

"I- I can't, not enough."

"You wanna use your hands?"

"Yes!"

"Because you're a greedy little faggot?" Can he just not make this so hard for one second? At some point you've debased yourself enough for one night.

"Yea- Yes, because I'm a greedy little faggot." He delays his answer for a minute to watch you struggle on the floor, chasing whatever feel-good feelings you can get before he finally grants you permission.

You stick your hands between your thighs, rocking into them erratically, trying to feed your desperation with this stupid fucking ken doll body.

"Wow. You look so stupid right now."

You huff in annoyance- or maybe that's just you moaning at his words. You're sure he's right but it feels too good to stop just because you look a little stupid right now. It's almost hard to even care how you look, your brains getting all fuzzy and you're starting to get shamelessly lost in the feeling. Your moaning's getting less restrained as you fall into a pleasure daze.

Jax sits there watching you lose yourself. With your new shameless enthusiasm, his words start to come at you more rapidly.

"Look at you, you're such a pathetic little cocksucker aren't you? Just a stupid little faggot jumping at the chance to play with yourself in the same room as me. Did you have any self respect at the start of the day, or have you been like this the whole time?"

His words only encourage you more and he knows it. His insults make you whimper and you're too far gone to act proud, too far gone to do anything other than keep desperately touching yourself.

"You're my bitch and I didn't even have to touch you." Clear amusement is injected into his tone. Like he's so entertained by the sight of you. "Say you're pathetic."

"I'm pathetic." Your brain's too foggy to even consider defying his order. You're too close to let something as minor as thinking slow you down

"Ha! And, you're a stupid faggot." God, he is really enjoying this.

"And I'm a stupid faggot." He seems to find endless entertainment in your submission.

"And a sick pervert?" You start going faster and faster chasing release. You don't care what he wants you to say, he can pull whatever words he wants out of your mouth.

"I'm a sick pervert." So close. So close. So close.

"Who's obsessed with me?"

"I'm obsessed with you!" You finally hit your climax, leaning over the ground you start slowing down.

You take a minute to just breathe on the floor. In your clearer state of mind everything you just said- how you must have looked is hitting you and you can't look up at him.

"Yeah, there's a good boy." He reaches to pet you again. His gloved hand feels gentle against you, and he caresses your face.

You slowly lift yourself and get into bed, without looking at him and without a word you put your face in his chest.

#jax x reader #jax/reader #tadc jax x reader #the amazing digital circus jax

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lover-of-mine · 5 months ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/lover-of-mine/755197579959123968/so-over-the-slow-burn-thing-too-also-the-idea

I firmly believe that all the people who say they want an entire season of buddie pinning and then like season 9 mid for canon buddie just truly don’t understand how long that is. Like I don’t think they understand in tv show format that translates into months upon months of just the same thing episode after episode after episode. Hiatus and breaks. And the fact that mid season 9 is over a year away. It’s not like their ao3 fics where they can just binge through all 70k words of pinning and get to the happy ending in an hour or two. I also don’t think they understand just how fast they will get bored of seeing that play out for so long. After the 3rd or 4th episode of them pinning (so a month of it) they will be begging for it to end. Nevermind watching 8 months of pinning, 3-4 months of hiatus, then another 4ish months of pinning before hitting that season 9 winter break.

I blame streaming format for "slowburns" for that actually. Like, Colin and Penelope from Bridgerton, people wanna call that a slowburn, it took them 20 episodes total to get engaged, but you have whole seasons being put out at once, so you watch the story all at the same time and have to wait a shit ton of time between season, so it feels like a lot of time has passed, but let's face it, you probably watched the whole season in a weekend, so the actual story is not frustrating, but couples that get together in one season feel rushed. Same with JJ and Kiara from outerbanks, it took them 29 episodes to get together, but there's a lot of space between seasons, so a relationship that takes time to develop, it's not just introduced as romantic gets called a slowburn when it's literally just... developing in a decent pace. Wanna know what's episode 20 for buddie? Sink or swim. Episode 29? Seize the day. What's 4 years of "slowburning" in streaming is a season and a half. That's what? A year and a half for us? Mid-season 9 for us is 28 episodes away if we keep the 18-episode format. Which doesn't seem like a lot, but we are getting one episode a week, other things happening to other characters, a mid-season hiatus, a between-season hiatus, stops in the middle of a season. If you experienced a classic procedural network slowburn real-time, Kate and Castle, Bones and Booth, Castle says he loves Kate at the season 3 finale and they keep dancing around getting together after and it's 23 very agonizing episodes waiting week by week for them to stop being idiots. It has been 96 episodes since Eddie has been introduced. It happened 6 years ago. The clock didn't reset all of a sudden when Buck came out as bi, for all intents and purposes we have been waiting for 6 years. I've seen multiple people say getting buddie in season 8 would be instant gratification and no matter how I look at it, I can't see how. I doubt it could realistically happen before 804, so that's at least 100 episodes. It's not like they're gonna drop the whole arc at once and we're gonna watch 10 uninterrupted hours of 911 on a Saturday and see them get together. We have been watching week after week for YEARS, and I will keep watching, but MY GOD, you can't get any slower than we're at right now. Getting them together during 9b is them getting together after February 2026 at best. We don't know if we're gonna get a season 9, the idea of gambling and stalling this when it has been locked and loaded already is just............ At this point, any other classic procedural slowburn had at least kissed one. At this point, it's stalling just to stall. Just get Eddie out of the closet and get them together already, it's been SIX YEARS. It will feel like a slowburn once you watch back. Can we just please stop acting like the show suddenly restarted with the switch the ABC?????????????????????????????

#this is rambly and confusing #but im frustrated and i cant verbalize what i want in any way that's better than this #sorry #911 #anon 😌#i really need a tag for asks #buddie

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izzyspussy · 6 days ago

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i don't remember what it is in canon and i haven't made it there again yet on the rewatch BUT. i always like... idk if i really had this interpretation of the text or whatever, but i like to THINK that when ian was away between s3 and s4 he didn't stay local or even nearby the whole time. i like to think he really traveled around a lot and like obviously a lot of that time was really very bad and he was in a bad place and doing dangerous things with dangerous people, but some of the time it was good! some of the time he made real friends who cared about him, some of the time he had real fun that wasn't a mania or drug high or solely for avoidance's sake, some of the time he learned new things and had new experiences and so on.

but anyway sometimes. i also like to think about a canon divergence where maybe in the middle of this, ian meets a psychiatrist or a counselor or a neurology professor or a mental health crisis responder or maybe a foreshadowy emt or some other kind of guy who would be able to correctly recognize many of ian's symptoms and who would be confident enough about his opinion and skilled enough at de-escalation to bring it up with him without scaring him off right away.

he met this guy at a bar or a party or through a friend or whatever, and he tried to seduce him, but the guy is miraculously not a fucking pervert freak shitheel unlike most of the men ian has met in his life and won't sleep with an underage kid. no, ian, not even an underage kid who is barely even underage. no, ian, not even an underage kid who's birthday could theoretically be tomorrow because actually an eighteen year old is still too young for him.

and ian has decided to take this as a challenge and has been staying with him, and the guy chose his field and profession in it for a reason, you know, he's a helper, and he really means it, so he's letting ian stay without rent or favor and he's trying to help him more on top of that too. (and at first probably ian is just convincing himself he's taken getting turned down as a challenge, though he is genuinely convinced the guy is attracted to him no matter what he says - which is maybe not totally untrue, but also he really is just a kid to this guy so it's more like a 'wow he's going to grow up hot and he's already on his way there' kind of thing - but he's really subconsciously latching onto this guy for a fucking break because he's been mattress surfing for his living space for months and honestly even while he was manic and hypersexual it was getting exhausting if only because not everyone you go home with when you go home with someone every night is going to be someone you'll actually be good in bed with and anyway maybe just maaaayyyybe he's starting to miss staying in one place for more than a week.)

ian met him at the tail end of a manic phase, when he was still way up there but it was fading off and he was getting tired. and i know in canon he had to have been gone for less than 9 months, but for this it kind of has to be longer even though he's almost certainly rapid cycle - wait nevermind i just looked it up and apparently rapid cycle is "4 or more cycles in a one year period" so that's one of each phase every three fucking months my GOD (but also rapid cycling usually isn't permanent so at least there's that, but still. goddamn). fucking shit man, in 9m ian could have cycled 3 entire times, provided he has very short maintenance phases if any while unmedicated. jesus. okay well. where was i.

oh right, okay. okay, so ian is at the tail end of his third manic phase of this period (which is about at the 9m mark, so i am still extending his period of absence beyond what it was in canon a bit) when he meets this guy. and he's done this twice now, and the first time he was half lucky half not and he'd already had someone he was welcome to stay with for a little while when this happened so he was housed and fed (inasmuch as he would eat the food he had access to) and that for at least part of the depressive phase before that person got sick of him and dumped him at a shelter like a pound puppy they changed their mind about. but the second time he wasn't lucky at all and didn't have anything lined up, and he ended up on the street and he's highkey refusing to look back on it but if he did he'd probably have to conclude that he only survived that because of other unhoused people helping him out as much as they could and the miracle of mild, dry weather the whole time.

all that to say, while he is absolutely camped out on the treacherous muddy river banks of denial about it, he does know what's coming and he knows he needs to find someone with a lot of hospitality for him to take advantage of and he needs to find them really fucking fast because he could have a whole week left or he could go down overnight. so he meets this guy, and he's hot enough that ian would like fucking him now and won't rather kill himself than let him do whatever later, and he looks like he has money, and he's familiar with the place they're at or maybe even knows the server/cashier/whatever so he probably lives around here, and he's charming and polite and kind in the few casual unglamorous ways you can see a person be when they're a stranger in a public space which really say more about a guy than grand gestures anyway. he's basically a first choice option, so because of the time constraint and because he doesn't want to have to take a downgrade, ian's approach is maybe a little bit- well. i won't say desperate because this is my precious baby i'm talking about here, but you can go ahead and think it for yourselves. quietly.

and the guy turns him down for sex, turns him down for a date, sees through all of ian's attempts to feign interest in anything he might need or want the guy's help or input on, like say attending the university he teaches at if he's the neurology professor or writing an article for a made up publication about ways to handle a crisis situation without calling 911 (and why you'd want to) if he's the mental health responder or the emt, etc. so ian is giving up, and he's having a pretty hard time not losing his temper about it, and he's having a pretty hard time not feeling genuinely rejected even though he knows they both know his ulterior motives were a higher priority than real attraction on his own part, and he's having a pretty hard time not getting really really really scared about what if the next guy says no too and the one after that and the one after that and he either has to settle for someone who will hurt him or what if he just dumps himself at the shelter but they won't take him either or he wears out his welcome there too or what if- so it's really very obvious how upset he is, and it's really very obvious it's not hurt feelings or bruised ego at being turned down. and ian is charming and polite and kind in all the ways that indicate a stranger is kind, and he's just a fucking kid, so the guy says listen. i'll buy you lunch - it's not a date! - and if you need a place to stay, i have plenty of room.

and also okay let's say. they have lunch, and over lunch they discuss the specifics. the guy does indeed have money, and he's single - not married! ian kinda wants him lol - and he also owns his own practice or for whatever other reason has a really nice private office that he's allowed to do whatever the fuck he wants with an no one else ever needs to use. so ian can stay at his house with him if he wants, where there's more space and it might be a little more comfortable physically speaking, but where the guy will be all the time and will have habits and guests and other things that might bother or be bothered by ian. or ian can stay at his office, where it's smaller and doesn't have, you know, amenities, but ian will have it all to himself for the bulk of the time, with the guy only coming and going for a few hours here or there on weekday afternoons.

and like i said. ian is getting tired. it's not just that the mania is fading, not this time. he's kind of getting a little sick of the lifestyle. it's exhausting, even when technically his energy is endless. and he's... maybe starting to feel just a little bit bad about himself, and then he feels bad for feeling bad because he's not doing anything wrong, and every now and then the drugs and the sex and the travel and the dancing and the club lights and the interesting new people that ian doesn't have to love and all the other things and even the dissociation and hysterical optimism on the upswing can't keep out a tiny but persistent little trickle of regret as some of the consequences for a few particular big decisions start to slowly, piece by piece, sink in. so even though he is, allegedly, trying to seduce this guy, he picks the office.

so he gets set up with a sheet tucked around the couch cushions, pillow, blanket. guy tells him the address, leaves a piece of mail in case ian forgets with a bunch of takeout menus ("old fashioned," ian flirts, gesturing to his smartphone and its location services and doordash app). he finishes out his last few days of mania crashing back to the office in the wee hours of morning, then spending the days really giving his all into getting this guy to sleep with him when he comes around to do whatever he does here for work. no dice, but the guy mostly just seems amused with him, and he's kept every word so far, so ian keeps himself from getting anxious about it sometimes with drugs and sometimes with giving it a rest and just genuinely getting to know the guy. and it's actually pretty nice.

then the depression hits, and ian hates himself and everything he's ever done. he would never have made it in the army anyway and he couldn't have gotten into college either and now he's an unfeeling junkie whore and he'll never be anything else. his siblings will never forgive him and mickey hates him and mandy's already forgotten about him and nobody else ever loved him because he didn't give them any reason to. they all deserve to live without him, and he deserves to die without them. and he doesn't eat and he doesn't shower and it should be easy to sleep after he can't even remember now how long he was up especially when he's so exhausted it actually physically hurts but he doesn't sleep either.

and the guy realizes maybe not exactly what's up, as in 'this kid has rapid cycle bipolar type 2', because diagnosis is complicated and takes time and shouldn't be done by anyone who isn't both trained and asked to do it. but he does realize ian wasn't the way he was because of the drugs and he's not like this now because of drugs either, and he also is informed enough about these things to know what's up beyond that more than just 'something is wrong with him'. at first all he does to help is get some immediate needs met. he sets out clean replacement bedding within ian's arms reach so if ian gets struck at some point by the inspiration to change them out he won't have to do any extra work and might be able to actually do it. he gets a bunch of nonperishable single serving finger foods, meal replacement drinks, bottled water, and leaves those within reach too. he opens and closes the curtains when he comes and goes, so that ian can get a little bit of sun but won't be bothered by the light when he can't get up and close them himself. unfortunately he can't move the bathroom closer to the couch, but when ian sometimes has to make use of one of the empty water bottles, the guy disposes of them for him without a word. he makes sure he doesn't leave anything in the office that could be easily used to seriously hurt oneself. he spends more time there just in case.

eventually it passes, and ian climbs out of it - though at a much more gradual rate than he dropped from mania. when ian gets close enough to sea level to start trying to apologize, that's when the guy makes the first attempt to talk about the situation. obviously that goes poorly, but it could have gone worse. he leaves it be there, but he does start picking strategic books off his shelf, sitting on the couch with ian (companionship is helpful, and also it forces ian to at least partly sit up), reading them a bit (he doesn't pretend; it's always good to refresh the info), and then 'forgetting' to put them away.

there's no tv in the office, you see. and there's only so fucking much you can do to entertain yourself on a smartphone (if you don't read fanfiction lmao). no mobile game or social media site can fill the hours of every single day for weeks on end. so. ian reads the books. and he learns some things from them that still definitely for sure do not apply to him, but are good to know, you know, as like general knowledge. or in case monica comes back. (it doesn't occur to him to think in case one of his siblings ends up having it; he knows it's him, and according to the stats he'll most likely be the only one. it also doesn't occur to him that he wouldn't already be back first when monica hypothetically showed up again.)

after a certain amount of books, the guy tries bringing it up again. ian still brushes him off, but not quite so firmly. he leaves it be again.

soon enough ian gets all the way back up. he knows he's "normal" again by how it feels inside his head, even though he is of course still exhausted, sad, and lonely. he goes back to flirting with the guy, but there's no intent behind it now and they both know it, which is the only reason the guy finally starts flirting back. it's just for fun. he's still hot as fuck, hotter now than when ian first met him really, but whatever attraction ian had before is pretty dead now. he doesn't think friendship would work out real well for them either, to be honest. even not accounting for age and all the other vast expansive differences they have with, as far as ian knows, having the same sex and orientation being the only thing they do have in common, there's also the part where this guy was a total stranger when he threw out ian's piss bottles for him. that's just a very strange - and, for ian personally, kind of humiliating - starting point for anything.

but speaking of things that are kind of humiliating... the more time ian spends around this guy in a stable and rational state of mind, the more he realizes he's ian's type. ian's real type that is (as opposed to his opportunistic and/or strategic type). he's got dark hair that cuts a striking contrast against his pale skin, with some silver mixed in. blue eyes. not the kind you'd describe as "baby blues". icy blue, maybe, even when they're not cold. clear and piercing. sharp nose, elegant neck, broad shoulders. plush lips for a white guy, with a kiss hidden at the corner like wendy darling. smaller than ian but he'd be in the same weight class; it shows when he takes off his blazer, when he rolls his sleeves up to the elbow. he flirts like it's a fight he's already winning, but he'll happily throw it if you can manage to get a hit on him. ian's in a similar spot this guy is about him now. it'd be like meeting your boyfriend's dad if your boyfriend's dad was hot and not a worthless evil scumbag; you're not attracted to him, but someday you'll be attracted to someone who looks just like him.

once ian finally lets himself think about mickey, he can't stop from thinking about everyone else too. he's exhausted, sad, and lonely, and he misses them so much, and he doesn't want this to be his life. he wants to go home.

the only problem is... he's in fucking. kansas city or something idk. he's in kansas city, broke, and a fucking mess. he could make his way back to chicago the same way he got here, but that would take a long time and a lot of doing things he just doesn't fucking want to do right now, or ever again. at least that's how he feels about it at the moment.

he could call fiona. he could call lip. he knows he could, and either one of them, or fucking both of them probably, they'd instantly drop fucking everything and drive all the way here in the fucking ice cream truck to come get him. but they'd know. they're going to have to know anyway, eventually, but he's still pretending he doesn't, and they wouldn't pretend shit. or if they did they'd be ass at it. they'd see him and they'd know and they would start dreading the next time he leaves, the next time he needs them to deadlift him off of rock bottom, right then and there.

he could call mandy. she probably couldn't get to him herself, not without help, but she would figure something out if he really needed her to. she wouldn't know. but she'd ask. she'd see him huddled up under a pile of stinking dirty blankets on a stranger's office couch, in equally dirty clothes, limp hair, pale with dark circles, too thin, not yet a year after he said he was obliging himself to the united states government for four. she'd ask, and he wouldn't tell her, and they'd both hate it. and besides which, she can really only get the help from strangers ian couldn't stand seeing him like this, or lip. or mickey.

he could call mickey. he doesn't know if mickey would drop everything and drive all the way here to come get him. he doesn't even know if mickey would answer the phone. he wouldn't know and he wouldn't ask, and ian doesn't know if he would let ian tell him if by a strange twist of fate ian wanted to for some reason. but he knows mickey still loves him. and he can already hear mickey's voice in his ear with his phone still face down on the table. so he calls mickey.

i'm a voyeur (lmfao. obviously.) which means i want witnesses, so we'll have mickey be at the alibi when the call comes through. kev is just off to the side a bit, pretending to listen to some other all-day bar patron say some stupid shit, but he's got some of the facts sussed out so when mickey sees the caller id and puts down his beer so fast it spills to answer it, and the answer in question is just, "Ian?" and his voice is all breathless and wet because he's too drunk and too heartbroken-hopeful to play it cool or keep it quiet, Kev is goddamn Zoned the fuck In.

"yeah, i- me- yours too," mickey says. the other bar patron tries to speak. kev does not so much as glance at them, gesturing for them to be quiet distractedly and obliviously coming close to hitting them in the face.

"couple weeks ago," mickey says. "boy. terry's thrilled." he keeps whatever insult he might have used, but the depth of hatred it would have represented is still QUITE clear. clear enough for kev to nervously check over his shoulder, relieved to find the pool table unattended. "i know that ain't what you fucking called about. if it is you can go fuck yourself."

there's a long pause. maybe ian's talking, maybe mickey's just waiting for him to.

eventually mickey asks, "are you- ...where are you?" the answer is short and mickey says, "that's not that far." then, soft and aching like no one actually in the room has ever heard him, if they've ever heard it from anyone at all, "can i come see you?"

the answer to that is very, very short. mickey's face doesn't crumble, not quite. he just closes his eyes hard, painful crease between his eyebrows, a shamed dip of his chin. "sorry," he says, "fucking stupid questio-"

"oh," he says. and then, soft again, aching still but in a different way. "yeah, i can do that. i, uh," he looks at the beer he spilled, his fuck even knows round of the day at fucking 11 am or whatever, embarrassed, "i gotta sober up first, but i- yeah. i'm... on my way."

#jack facts #shameless #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #gallavich #hc #my fic

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safetyobstacles · 1 year ago

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starting o segredo na floresta now, im either gonna finish this in a week or its gonna take months good luck me

update - i love joui

joui, its a little cloudy out, roll for sanity. joe, you stubbed your toe, roll sanity. joui did you just frown???????? roll a sanity test with disadvantage. that was cool joui, you gain 1 sanity. just kidding somewhere in the netherlands a child tripped and scraped their knee, you lose 10 sanity.

i think im going to put my updates under the cut instead of spamming posts B) beware of spoil

UPDATE

if cellbit takes liz or thiago from me ill never forgive him

this bar has to be its own paranormal entity, thiago would have died if the gun had a bullet in it and cristopher nearly got knifed to death in their first fight loll

EP 2

npc thiago about to be the most useless mf ever i swear if he dies to a stray ant or something ill cry just put him in a box for safe keeping

what would i do without the mental image of joui dropkicking every monster he sees

liz why are you finger painting with the ooze monsters remains and why did it give you 1 hp ?????? NEVERMIND

EP 3

RACCOON bro has 8 health but he sure is happy

faz um teste de sanidade

when i said thiago was gonna die to an ant i didnt actually mean kill him with giant spiders

cristopher no please dont climb a tree these are spiders they can climb nah bro cristopher is dead af im gonna miss him. bro cellbit just kill him already bros dead 2 hp

damn

ep 4

at this rate luba doesnt even need to roll sanity we all know hes gonna fail anyways joui's having the worst two days of his life

jesus christ i just woke up i cant handle this shit cesar's punching a hole in my itty bitty heart bones

please stop talking about leticio's cacetinho

EP 5 how long is too long for a tumblr post btw

the starting soon screen replaced cris with arthur notlikethis

cellbit is far too happy about them going to this house i hate it i hate it

i would like for them to leave a casa now :))) they got gregório time to go :) DAMN JOUI JUST GOT STEAMROLLED BY THAT ZOMBIE ROLLED A 99 VS CELLS 1 jesus christ thiago LOL NO WAY GREGÓRIO IS DEAD AF bro was just taking a nap in the car and this is what he gets

that was horribly stressful its 3 am how am i supposed to sleep after that

to be fair, if i was rodolfo and liz didnt use the tazer, i would have just dragged gregório in front of arthur and killed him in right in front of his face soo...

ROLLED 100 LOOOOOOOOOOOOL a caverna

COOL GUY ALERT HOPE HE DOESNT KILL BRULIO HAHAhahaaa

EP 6 I HAVE GREAT ANXIETY THIS MESTRE GUY IS ABOUT TO KILL HALF THE SQUAD

luba i know youve been rolling absolute dog shit the last 5 episodes but this one really counts buddy brulio :(

most stressful hour of youtube ive ever sat through i cant believe they all lived

A PORTA FORTE

EP 7 im so glad they're going back to the house im so happy ive never wanted anything else this is great nothing could go wrong in this house nothing

7 episodes in and ive just now realised that he keeps talking about circles and spirals and those have significance with a certain element and now i want them to leave carpazinha go back home forget this ever happened

undressing with the homies in the haunted basement next to a dead old man

not thiago canonically talking to a bookshelf after complaining about joui's whispering to his shotgun

THIS GRAVE IS SO COMPLICATEDDDD I BET ITS FUCKING EMPTY THEYRE ARGUING ABOUT HOW TO "knock out" AN OLD LADY AND ITS PROBABLY JUST WORMS AT THE BOTTOM OF THE GRAVEEE

this whole graveyard scene has me in tears thiago staring at nothing while they try to get him to unmute, old guy on the phone, joui picking up the old lady i just laughed so hard i feel ill

the one time joui doesnt fail a roll he loses 6 SANITY?? 8 SANITY?????????????? SENHORA VOCE TA BEM????? YOU JUST CHOKED HER OUT JOUI WAIT SHES GONNA DIE??????????? SHES GOING TO DIE???????????? THE GASOLINE IN THE MOUTH??

grounded from the shotgun for 1 week

EP 8

Thiago's pants are still fucked up from last episode btw

about to have a tpk over alchohol poisoning

if cesar survives this campaign hes gonna put as many points possible into forgery

a caverna im goign fuckign crazy the god of tdeath pr spomething is in this cave theyre gonna walk inside trip on a pebble and get eaten by hundreds of tiny cave beetles

Victor is absolutely about to get his face eated by a spider and/or be swallowed by the cave

ok but santo berço looks kinda cool like i would live there

EP 9 he just (re?)released osnf merch but i refuse to be spoiled by absolutely anything ive done so well i will not be tainted by cesar's really cool green on black long sleeve

wait i love the gatekeeper its a shame this town is probably a hallucination and theyre all actually slowly dying in the middle of the forest GIANT COWS I LOVE THE GIANT COWS WITH REGULAR SIZED HEADS

????????????????????????????????FELPS??????????????????????

buttery butter

thiago this is why you should have quit smoking

?????FELPS?????????

EP 10 so if thiago hadnt used the lighter would felps still be alive, probably just would have died later B)

bro joui has got to buy new dice this is crazy

this is gonna be the average 2 star motel experience BRO JUST DABBED ON CESAR liz is about to get bodied by the hallway ghosts this is just like a regular motel HUH UHHHHHHH

no joui kill the hotel guy joui kill the hotel guy joui kill the hotel guy joui kill the hotel guy joui kill the hotel guy joui kill the hotel guy

mom i want to go home i dont want to stay in santo berço anymore jesus christ

EP 11 how am i supposed to just start the next episode after that i think the mental image of brulio beating arthurs skull in is burned into my brain space

sandwich sandwich

i love the giant cows so much i want one GIANT CHICKEN LAY GIANT EGG I LOVE THE GIANT CHICKEN intimidating the human sized pig

EP 12 still thinking about how cellbit thought new zealand was so close to europe, he was so sure of it that he was making me unsure of where i knew new zealand was

both times thiago was played by cellbit some horrific shit happened so with arthur being an npc this episode im prepared for the worst also this starting soon screen is fucking wicked

are you telling me joui's max sanity is now 12 bros been losing it for so long hes stuck like this joui is the "damn, you live like this?" meme

CELLBO ROLEPLAYED TOO HARD HIS HEADSET JOINED AS AN ENEMY AND BEAT HIS SETUP

"that sounds like a book title" bro let the intrusive thought win

baby nidere

no way the cow has been suffering this whole time ill cry

theyre about to rp their way into an angry medieval mob when they get found with the body of the dead gatekeeper B) does santo berço have dungeons, bc if they do thats where theyll be sleeping tonight nvm the gatekeeper has demons inside him sorry joui HUh no way they killed the gatekeeper dude wtf

EP 13 chat's a bit excited to go in the cave guys if anyone reads this what am i supposed to do once i finish this season. what do you mean i just have to go onto desconjuração. what do you mean i have to leave this story behind. please let me keep all the characters in this one.

THE CAVE MAP IS COOOOOOL THE LIGHT MOVES WITH THE MINER everyone struggling to flip their characters 5 mins into the cave made me laugh so hard i had to pause to breathe

I LOVE MOLES DUDE THEYRE SO COOL ok but i dont love this many moles BRO I LOVE MOTHS TOO THIS IS AWESOME wait no i hate bats THIS MOTH IS SUFFERINGGGGG

THE SUCC hes about to kill them all with the Succ out of spite thiago never mock one of cellbit's monsters again ARTHUR ZIUM

door door door door door door door door door door the gatekeeper is alive???

ih arthur nah dude let go of cesar :(((((((((((( gotta hand it to arthur hes survived two of these situations now get it, hand it to him, CAUSE HE LOST HIS FUCKING ARM WTF HIS ARM DETATCH LIKE A LEGO sorry i vote we still kill the gatekeeper just in case just to be safe

EP 14 did cellbit have a past traumatic experience with a vacuum is that why he created the Succ

agatha?????? bro agatha's life sucked big pp

every time cellbit says hes excited for something i grow more afraid

if they kill and eat the gatekeeper would he also taste delicious just wondering

i think i might know the reason why 12 sanity joui has a funky grey form but 55 sanity thiago doesnt, but maybe im crazy nevermind thiago had the funky grey within him this whole time wait does that mean hes gonna die if santo berço dies DAMN

joui just really wants to see thiago naked also hes just blatantly stealing arthur's knife he really is losing all his sanity that was possibly the most unconvincing "nada" ive ever heard

EP 15 before i start a new episode i always go to the vod on twitch and watch the memes first so i can go "hehe" for five minutes, and then go "oh no" for the next 4 hours

hypothetically, if joui managed to get the symbol on him before anyone noticed would he have just lost all 12 of his sanity and gone mad cuz that would have been crazy :,)

this is it cellbit is finally going to kill npc thiago joui is so very happy about his shotgun i thought maybe he was getting better but hes whispering to it again

alright whats up with cellbit and the outwards opening doors because i swear i have never seen a door that opens out instead of in, are all the doors like that in his home these doors are made to have creatures attack from inside ih i just checked like 3 times to make sure i was on the right episode lmaoooo

"pobre martha" DAAAAAAMN MARIANA ICE COLD

one buff woman vs all 3 equipe kelvin who will win (1 woman) crazy that equipe kelvin managed to accomplish what took our group 9 episodes to get to lool they even got the leticio cacetinho dlc, but they did skip the spider boss fight and the entire house level

THE BLACKSMITH IS MIGUEL AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

EP 16 the joui, liz, and arthur cosplay look like theyre going to a nice dinner meanwhile thiago, kenan, and cesar just look homeless

idk if thiago's making it out of this one :,) maybe we just take thiago's weapons its not like he can do much to help anyways kenan wants to skin him listen brother i dont think thats gonna work im at the 52 min mark and cellbit is acting sus af the blacksmith is about to appear and stomp them all or something

joui would roll a 99 and nearly knife cesar and liz is trying so hard not to metagame her way to the explosive backpack loving how trigger happy joui is right now go on guys give him more explosives what the worst that could happen

is kenan also a wellspring do they have to kill him cuz thats gonna be kind of awkward and on that note since thiago has the symbol on him does that make him a wellspring too ill cry i will cry

NOT JOUI APOLOGIZING FOR LYING ABOUT HIS SAMURAI ANCESTRY

damn that scene between joui, liz, and thiago was the best in the entire season

i would like to take this moment before they all get swallowed alive by some horrible sludge tentacle monster to proclaim my absolute hatred of Santo Berço. I know i said at the end of episode 8 that i thought it looked cool but im over it ive moved past that point in my life i hate Santo Berço

BIG GOOEY MEATBALL

"the people are happy here!" says the blacksmith as he currently has 5 people forcefully locked up for decades that have gone mad with probably no way of ever regaining their sanity i just realised miguel and the old blacksmith fucked and had a kid

final boss aboutta come crawling out of the meatball please stop trying to skin thiago the symbol isnt gonna come off

THAT WAS SICK AF THEYRE ALL DEAD AS HELL

???????????????????? "kenan you have one last sane move before i take your character and throw him off a cliff"

post i made after i finished osnf (made like 3 days later because i was so so so so so so so so so so sad)

https://www.tumblr.com/safetyobstacles/739056899257942016/i-finished-osnf-after-almost-2-months-and-you-know?source=share

#ordem paranormal #osnf #really excited for this tho #first series got me hype #manteiga na manteiga

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eldritchsun · 1 year ago

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I found my Realm Of the Elderlings opinions in my diary and I still stand by them almost 5 years later

first entry and it's already terminal :

aug 30 2018

OHHHHH my god fitzchivalry YOU ARE THE REAL FOOL

i am so fucking done with this ABSOLUTE dumbass i can’t deal. the farseer books got me fucked up. he is SO stupid sometimes!! [ranting in french] fitz you are so self absorbed!!!! you really are just furious because u love the bastard. i swear to god fitzchivalry, just square the fuck up i’m teleporting to les six duchets just to shake you a lil

sep 26 2018

My ass is losing it reading The Liveship Traders!!!

Altheaaaaaa!! Mrs Hobb I BEG you!! We’ve suffered enough with One Dumbass Teenager! Fitzchilvary growing up is enough Pure Dumbassery-driven decision making for the next ten years of my life, and that’s from someone who’s still running on dumbassery themselves!!

The worst of it is... rn I’m like Althea... hoe plz... stop... but I can feel it. This is how Fitz got me... is this a stupid teenager with Big Problems who’s gonna grow through and despite them? What is this within my heart?

And Robin Hobb bursts through my door, my beating heart in her hands, slams it on the table and bellows “ITS THE SEEDS OF LOVE”

oct 19 2018

Kennit “[wintro's french name] is beautiful” Pirate King

Hobbs recurring gay themes r so ??? To me but at the same time bring me so much joy lol

Canon nonbinary Annoyance Fool “in love with Fitzchilvary” Prophet

Althea “drag king” Vestrit and lesbian/bi girl solidarity friendship with amber.

Malta “Homophobic Queen” Havre.

And now, absolute legend kennit “surcoure do you love me” pirate king. I know one gay couple is actually endgame over the course of Hobbs books [ndlr i don't remember wtf i was talking about] and I’m thinking it might be this one. I mean, it’s not great hashtag representation but it’s great story telling!

Sweet monk Wintrow with dumbass pirate kennit? Who’s completely and irrevocably in love and admiration for him?

This idiot of a kennit is literally constantly like [french ranting about kennit etta hate and wintrow love]

Lol kennit mate come out

however the next entry doesn't make much sense but features the sentences "kennit thinks he’s so smart!! Fuck you, half a pirate!!!" (the title of the entry (oct 26 2018) is "kennit bitchass of the century" so clearly he fell out of favour)

nov 26 2018

Literally in ROTE if I was there for one of Ambers prophecies I would legit be like... ok sis... wig?

nov 30 2018

Checked the notes on that women writers rec list and several other people already wrote “this is Robin Hobb erasure” in those exact words :’)

So in honour of this hivemind I must say : I am having the time of my life with the Liveship Traders, excites rant with (huge) spoilers ahead :

I am at that point where Kennit is about to get absolutely WRECKED and I swear to god it feels so satisfying. The character arc and development for every single character in these books is pure mastery. In the case of Kennit you really go from “what a despicable man he really just has luck on his side” to “well I guess even if he did good accidentally he still did good... I almost love this Awful Imbecile” and finish straight into “OH!! NEVERMIND he really was a despicable man the whole time!!!”, a pit of disgust right on time where the whole story is setting up to absolutely destroy him. Kennit is a great example of how “does the right thing for the wrong reasons” is not equivalent in terms of ethics as “does the right thing for the right reasons”. But to quote a great thinker “they really had us in that first half I’m not gonna lie!”

What I really like in these books is that the centristTM opinions of certain main characters are not automatically & heavily presented as the right ones. I am still cackling at Hiémain’s “but they didn’t deserve to die!!” bullshit not being put on a pedestal. Ms Hobb did that! Her mind! Also the Vestrit family not being given an (entirely, let’s be real) free pass for not standing up to Kyle and letting Vivacia happen. The main characters, the actual heroes try to pass off responsibility for bad things and in most media it’s like “but they didn’t directly kill someone with their own hands so aren’t they kinda innocent?”

and then it skips to a single entry line (dec 3 2018) "reyn khuprus is a massive idiot" :')

dec 12 2018

Fitz I missed u so much

I have not seen this boy for 9 books and this hoe is worried abt being ugly, please never change boo

dec 14 2018

Fitz and the fool interacting is genuinely maddening I’m just walking along like KISS! KISS! KISS!

Fitz you are an immense idiot and the smartest one of the bunch is the goddamn wolf.

Jan 8 2019

Ohhhh my goodness gracious

I have gone full baby on Dutiful, he is the sweetest most cute drama teen since Fitzchivalry himself. I love him with the force of an exploding sun. His interactions with every other character are both precious and absolutely hilarious. He’s got a great mini-me vibe going on with Fitz, wrapped in Hobbs usual delicious irony.

Also poor Dutiful so lonely and starving for warmth, human attention!! The bit where Fitz is like all them hoes been begging me for this for MONTHS but I just can’t say no to those baby blues. I was like congrats Dutiful you just got a dad! Free dad with your meal!

And the Fool interaction like Dutiful you lucky boy you! You went from zero dads to TWO! It’s buy one get one free.

This dad was kinda mean so I had to get another one to counter balance it.

Jan 15 2019

Fitzchilvary « Homophobia » Farseer

Fitz!!!!!!!! Fitz!!!!!!!! Robin Hobb I swear to god you better gay these boys up or i will see you in court

the latest entry is apparently post "the golden fool"

Jan 29 2019

BELOVED WENT HAND TO MOUUUUUUTH!!!!!!

I am absolutely losing it! hand to mouth hand to mouth !!! Fitz called him BELOVED!!!!!! YAS MF QUEEN! Icon! legend!

and if i remember rightly (which i don't, it was five years ago, i don't remember anything) i got real upset at queerbaiting and stopped reading. i like googled "are they actually gay" the answer came back hashtag no and i stopped reading out of disgust :/

#rote #fitzchivalry farseer #well i still love these books intently but i did get really cross at the time

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faerywhimsy · 2 years ago

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📖‼️🎨 !!!

📖 : favourite VC book and why

Can anyone's favourite book be anything other than Queen of the Damned?

I was actually gonna end this part of the ask right there, but... There is just... so much in it. Of course so many of our favourite piece is the 28 odd pages of TDM. But yet even that ties together so beautifully with the rest of the novel through the tales of the twins. The book itself sets up a legacy. It's a formative piece of my actual childhood.

And, just a little less subjectively, it's paced about as well as possible for of dear Anne's books. It's placed early enough in the series that the random array of characters who get brought into the mix actually kinda feel right, cause they have so many books to end up fleshed out in.

‼️ : obscure but beloved head canon that doesn’t fit any of the above

My obscure head canon this time is different to my last one and I was so totally hoping that someone would ask this again!

Lestat is only 50 years in the blood when he first comes across Armand in TVL. Yes, Lestat's instinct immediately screams at him, 'Get away. Leave the place to him if he wants it.'

But what if it didn't? What if Lestat's first response to seeing Armand in the flash had not been to leave? What if... stay with me here... what if Lestat had felt more drawn to him than repelled from him?

They've already got catacombs. That's basically the equivalent of a filthy basement hole in the 18th century, right? What if... Armand found Lestat *coughs* rather interesting... after, say, three odd days and nights keeping Lestat prisoner (because Gabrielle's not gonna now, Lestat's mind is silent to her), Armand leaves the door open to Lestat, and bids him run. Armand's drawn to him, half in love with him already, and fascinated with seeing what Lestat will do.

Ahem.

🎨 : share a WIP snippet of fanart/fic

This snippet is taken from next week's coming update of How They Get to Trinity Gate:

Armand recoiled from Lestat as though struck. “I hold Louis under no such spellcraft.” The idea that Lestat could cheapen what that he had painstakingly built with Louis, year after year, decade after decade—! “Please,” Lestat said, emotion making his accent thick. Yet he did not argue the point further. Armand was ready to drag up his version of their past, to retort Lestat had reason to know better than most exactly what it looked like when Armand held one completely in his thrall. Louis appeared in no such way. Nevermind that Louis would never have allowed Armand to do what he had done for he and Lestat had Armand not made amends for the past ways in which he had utilised the mind gift on him. He was incensed at the very insinuation of any longer being capable of doing such to one he loved. Armand was no longer the immortal he had been fifty years ago, a century, or a full two centuries before.

#lestat de lioncourt #armand #queen of the damned #vc shitpost #trinity gate #fanfic #the devil's minion #the vampire lestat

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calamitydaze · 1 year ago

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let's talk: canon events! how'd you get into the dream team? what brought you to dtblr?

oooh this is a fun question!!! i actually first heard of dream at the very beginning when he blew up because of the pewdiepie seed but i never looked into him beyond that, and a little bit later i kept getting “if i pick up an item the video ends” recommended to me and it annoyed me so much that i was like FINE fucking fine i’ll watch it so i watched it, thought it was mildly funny, and immediately never thought about it again 😭

so the first time i actually “found out” about dream team was from stantwt, a few of my longtime mutuals got into them in like summer 2020 and started putting clips on my tl which piqued my interest, and i was already sort of in the sphere because i had gotten into corpse in the among us era (and looking back at it i probably encountered dream in some of those videos but i don’t really remember). so a couple months later i was like Ok fine i’ll watch dream where do i start. and they provided me with the manhunt playlist and tommy’s playlist of dsmp videos and from there i was a goner! despite being on tumblr since 2016 i stayed only on mcyttwt for like a year and a half (except for going through tags and rbing dsmp fanart here and there) but as it got progressively more unbearable i started consistently lurking on dsmp/dtblr and eventually just made the switch! i remember the first time i wanted to shift from a lurker to an actual blog was january 2022 and then Everything happened and i was like oooooh okay nevermind. let’s wait a bit. and i don’t remember exactly when i made the jump but i was definitely fully active by summer 2022 so it’s been just about a year now :D a (mostly) wonderful year

#sorry this is a whole essay #i miss 2020 a LOT tbh and everyone who pulled me into the fandom left a long time ago #which is a bit sad #but i’m still having fun! ts voice Ask me why so many fade but i’m still hereeeee #bella answers #qna anon

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agaveblue · 1 year ago

Text

[Fanfic] The Company We Keep

Title: The Company We Keep

Summary:

It's a stroke of bad luck that Tilda van der Meer finds herself seated next to Walter Londra at the Far Zenith recruitment presentation. Of course he can’t help but drag his shiny new android along. As a man in love with his own voice, Walter is only too happy to show off and brag about his new acquisition, a mysterious CyberLife RK800 android protoype calling itself “Connor”. Tilda meanwhile grapples with the truth of Far Zenith’s plan for the Odyssey... ---- One-shot, Tilda-POV only in which two future Zeniths suffer each other's presence. Takes place shortly after "Sales Pitch" where Walter is loaned an android for two weeks.

Crossover canons: Horizon games / Detroit: Become Human

Main characters: Tilda van Der Meer (Horizon Forbidden West), Connor (DBH) and Walter Londra (Horizon Forbidden West: Burning Shores)

Upon reviewing the seating arrangements for Far Zenith’s recruitment presentation, Tilda van der Meer suppressed the urge to groan as she glanced down the list and immediately recognized that obnoxious name visible far, far too often in holo-news and tabloids, splashed across seemingly everywhere like a fast-growing mold with more money than decorum.

Someone had seen fit to seat her next to Walter Londra.

Wonderful.

You'll have to suffer that man for hours.

Tilda sighed and set down her cup of tea, languidly hooked one leg over the other as she used her bare feet to wheel her office chair around so that she could gaze out the floor-to-ceiling window; beyond was a spectacular view of Big Sur she especially loved, her home office overlooking that stunning vista of McWay Falls cascading down to the pristine half-moon beach below that was reserved for her and her only. Peaceful. Preserved by her personal investment and exemplary care. Beautiful in its natural state, unlike the tackiness of Pangea Park and all that racket surrounding Heaven¢’s acquisitions; nevermind those scandals involving that asteroid mining operation of Walter’s currently cluttering up Earth’s orbit.

Well. At least Walter had the sense to leave Griffith Observatory mostly intact: a sign, perhaps, that he could be occasionally counted on to show some restraint.

Think of tomorrow as a study in the virtues of patience.

----------

The Far Zenith Launch Facility had certainly been dressed up for today’s special VIP presentation.

Tilda still wasn’t sure what this presentation would actually entail. More details on the Odyssey? She’d already watched Dalgaard’s PR package and had seen enough to make several charitable donations for the good of mankind. What else was there to say? Clearly there was something worthwhile judging by the number of other billionaires and their entourage waiting in the lobby, milling over champagne and hors d'oeuvres and chatting amongst themselves.

When one made an appearance at these sorts of things, one must be doubly mindful of their appearance as there were certain unspoken rules to be observed. Too much or too little makeup would be noticed and mindlessly gossiped over. Over and underdressing would draw the wrong sorts of attention. One must especially mind their P’s and Q’s, exercising restraint in what was and wasn’t said and how it was and wasn’t said, and how far one’s P’s and Q’s traveled to nosy ears.

Clearly no one notified Walter Londra of basic etiquette.

“An exclusive interview for one of your vlogs?” Walter’s voice could be heard even from across the room with that slow, self-assured deep drawl of his that had surely impressed Evelyn Day several years ago and still impressed young Verbena Sutter now. “Sure, darling, why not. Why don’t you set it up with Connor after the reception to hash out the when and where.”

Connor?

Who was that?

As a rule of thumb, Tilda kept running tabs on those who ran in the same circles she did. Helpful to know who their aides and hangers-on were, if there was a change in bodyguards or they upgraded servitors or there were any new marriages, divorces and etc etc and so on and so forth - even the new purchase of a private jet or yacht could be informative of mental state or if someone has fallen out of favor, reflected in a certain will. Walter in particular was easy to follow as the man seemed to make it his personal mission to be in every headline, his perfect white teeth flashing underneath his perfectly groomed mustache from seemingly every holo-surface. It was if the man planned to force himself into relevancy whether Tilda wanted it or not.

So why was she just now hearing this new name?

Who was Connor?

Tilda mulled that over as she mingled with the other guests, offering smiles and handshakes when appropriate, a small, reserved laugh around the very few that she actually liked, the number of which could be counted on two hands if she was feeling generous, one hand if she was being honest. That would mostly be Anika Moojani, Song Jiao and Stanley Chen, the latter pulling her aside as the other guests began to cluster near the VIP auditorium entrance.

As expected, Stanley had an android by his side.

“This is Kara,” Stanley said, as if Tilda didn’t already know the machine’s vernacular name. His cheeks tinged with a blush. “She’s a miracle at keeping track of things. Getting older and all that. You’d be amazed at her storytelling abilities: wish I could’ve hired her to direct one of my Vegas shows. She’d be a breath of fresh air!”

“Kara” wasn’t an unknown like this Connor character was. It was a CyberLife AX400 model: domestic worker, housekeeper, caretaker. Honey-blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail. Average height, average female-chassis shape, generically pretty face with that usual blue LED cycling above the right eyebrow. A familiar face mass-produced for every household that could afford it. Surprisingly affordable for the public consumer, actually, which had led Tilda to idly wonder why Stanley had gone for such a cheap model that most middle class could buy off the shelf. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t afford something better, something more personalized. Why, he could have as many androids as he wanted instead of settling for a single generic.

For some reason Stanley Chen was perfectly happy with his basic AX400.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. van der Meer,” said Kara with a subservient dip of its pretty blonde head. Its feminine voice was soft, gentle. Even kind. The android observed proper etiquette by not extending its synthetic hand to Tilda, who wouldn’t have taken it even if it’d been offered. “Stanley, may I bring you a drink? You currently exhibit signs of low-level dehydration.”

“How ’bout a mimosa?”

“A mimosa isn’t efficient at hydration. As you’ve been reminded before and will likely be reminded again in the future.”

Was Kara…smiling?

Tilda studied the AX400 for a moment to come to the conclusion that it wasn’t, that it was just a CyberLife android’s default setting to look attentive and approachable and that she’d have to come to terms with that fact that even she couldn’t quite avoid that kneejerk reaction to anthropomorphize these things despite knowing better.

Stanley patted Kara’s hand resting on his shoulder and chuckled.

“Guess I thought I’d get away with it this time. Water would be great, Kara. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Kara faced Tilda. “Shall I order something for you as well, Ms. van der Meer?”

“No, thank you.”

Nodding, Kara silently walked with its blue LED strobing in neon succession - a sign that the AX400 was remotely flagging down wait staff for ice water - and Stanley spoke up again after watching his android disappear into the crowd, leaning toward Tilda with a conspiratorial hunch of his shoulder. Stanley was what he’d call “old school” in that he preferred his gossiping in person instead of over holo-net, one of his little idiosyncrasies that Tilda found oddly endearing. Somehow it was acceptable when Stanley did it. Someone insufferable like Walter or Verbana, though, and she’d suffer a migraine for the rest of the day.

Tilda’s face, her elegant features fixed in that carefully cultivated mask of grace and poise, tilted ever so slightly toward Stanley. Permission to gossip granted, Mr. Chen.

“Saw you were seated with Walter. My condolences.”

Tilda’s voice was a soft, amused murmur with a hint of stoic resignation. “I suppose it’s too late to switch seats.”

“Sorry, Tilda,” Stanley flashed a wry grin. “You know, my doctor said I had to reduce stress in my life.”

“Did he now?”

“Oh yes, he did. Very specific.”

“No doubt changing seating arrangements would only elevate that stress.”

“So now you see my predicament,” Stanley said with a wink. “Doctor’s orders. Otherwise I’d swap with you in a heartbeat: that’s what friends are for, right?”

Tilda actually smiled now. It wasn’t one of Walter’s wide movie star-type grins and it wasn’t one of Verbana’s overly filtered ones either. It was small, a twitch at the corners of her mouth, a genuine softening of her rosy lips reserved for the very few in this room she truly liked rather than simply tolerated.

“Is that what we are now?” Tilda teased back. “Then I guess I have no choice as your ‘friend’ to remain right where I am. To reduce your stress, of course.”

“Did I ever tell you you’re the best?”

A musical chime interrupted them then, directing everyone’s attention forward as the air shimmered. A holo of Osvald Dalgaard once more beckoned the assembled VIPs into the lobby and past, deeper into the Launch facility than she’d ever been before, to take their places please and, to leave any non-essential personnel to enjoy complimentary refreshments in the reception room. Sighing to herself, Tilda found her assigned chair and sat down next to Walter Londra already there looking insufferably smug as he usually did, his arms crossed over his chest and tapping one foot impatiently as if he somehow knew what this was all about.

Ugh. Why did he always insist on sitting with his knees spread? One would think he was riding a horse, not sitting in a chair. Unwilling to spend the whole presentation putting up with this blatant encroachment of her space, Tilda subtly nudged his knee away with her own, aware that Walter, as usual, was trying to get a rise from her because he clearly had nothing better to do.

The look on his face somehow turned even more insufferable.

“You’ll get a kick of this earth-shattering holo, Tilda,” Walter smirked. “Trust me. Or don’t, but you should, if I were you.”

"I'll take your advice into consideration," she said with a tilt of her chin, gazing toward the front of the auditorium, aloof, outwardly uninterested in what he had to say.

"Sure you will."

She didn’t trust him.

Tilda couldn’t deny, however, that her curiosity about this mystery presentation had been mounting over the last few hours. It was only made worse by the fact that Walter was acting like he got the jump on whatever this was actually about over her, despite all her skills and resources.

He couldn’t have beat her to this, could he?

The presentation began with a replay of the PR package about exploration and the Odyssey.

“Humans - Homo sapiens. Us. We have always pushed the boundary - as explorers, pioneers, trailblazers. And now, Far Zenith is taking the next leap into the future. That's why we're proud to have resurrected the Odyssey. What our governments abandoned in orbit, Far Zenith will actualize in less than a decade. But that's only the beginning. When the ship is complete, we will send the Odyssey and her crew where no one's gone before… ”

Osvald Dalgaard’s holo gestured, his digital voice rising and falling with all the fervor of a true believer.

Deeming this repeat not necessary to devote her full attention to, Tilda glanced around, her manicured hands nestled primly in her lap. The houselights had dimmed fully by now, obscuring the others’ faces so that they were only dark featureless smears and the auditorium felt larger than it actually was as shadows stretched and the walls faded away and it appeared that it was just Osvald Dalgaard’s holo holding back the night.

Then there were the glowing blue LEDs dotting the back of the room.

Androids.

More CyberLife units, each one standing roughly behind their owner’s chair but far enough away that they wouldn’t block the presentation itself. She couldn’t make out model faces from here but she knew where Stanley sat and she could see the teal-gleam of an android standing motionless against the wall behind him. That “Kara” AX400 from earlier, probably.

Suffice to say, Tilda was startled to see an android standing behind Walter’s chair.

When did he get one?

Why?

Walter was the last person she would peg as someone stooping to “needing” an android.

From here Tilda couldn’t make out the android’s model. She had an impression it was one of the male-chassis units - something about the broader shoulders and the height of its LED glowing in the dark hinted that it wasn’t another AX400 - but other than that, Walter’s new toy stood just as still as the other machines in the room, inanimate dark sentinels seemingly staring into nothing, oblivious to Dalgaard’s holo at the front of the auditorium declaring Earth a lost cause and advising everyone in this very room to abandon ship.

----------

Tilda’s mind raced, for once unsure how to approach this new problem.

Was Earth really a lost cause? She’d suspected, of course. But there’d been the Clawback, the development of better and better machines to heal the environment, improved cybernetics and gene therapies to help people live better, live longer. The situation on Earth seemed like it was improving…

As she exited the auditorium and headed toward the lavish reception waiting for them outside, walking past the frozen CyberLife androids waiting for the humans to filter out so they could leave too, Tilda found herself wondering if she could accept one of those berths on the Odyssey. Should she? She wouldn’t, couldn’t do it alone. What about Elisabet? God. Lis. Would Lis even pick up if she called after all this time? What would she even say? How could you invite your ex to flee the eventual end of the world? True that there wasn’t an actual date (yet?) for doomsday, but she trusted Far Zenith’s projections and she believed that she’d need to make a choice sooner rather than later.

Best to start planning now and putting the necessary contingencies into place...although it was one thing to disaster-proof her home, her carefully curated collections, and another thing entirely to uproot it it. All of it? Any of it? To jet off into space, just like that, knowing she'd never return to Earth?

The what-ifs are unproductive right now, Tilda reminded herself with a faint frown. You can verify the projections at home. Focus on mingling. For all you know, these are the people you could be stuck in space with.

Maybe it’d be best to distract herself with something more immediate, something more harmless than plotting out how to safely store her art if she wasn’t allowed to take it with her.

It was a sorry state of affairs when one willingly subjected herself to Walter Londra’s presence.

Tilda found Walter seated at one of the tables away from the general press of people. With a circular setting with real-silk tablecloth and hand arranged floral centerpiece, a set of candles flickering in a ring around the rare, priceless roses, the table overlooked the Data Center and the shuttle launchpad still currently under construction with rows of scaffolding crawling up its sides. By now the afternoon had faded from dusk and then to evening, the launchpad illuminated by pinpoints of sporadically winking safety lights like stars.

“Tilda, Tilda, Tilda,” Walter glanced up and smirked and threw back his champagne, wetting his lips. “C’mon, sit! Finally decided to join us, eh?”

“I just had some questions,” Tilda said frostily. “You…did advise me to trust you, after all.”

She still didn’t. But Walter had been right in a way about the VIP presentation and he shouldn't have been.

“Connor, pour Ms. van der Meer some champagne, pronto. She looks like she could use a drink.”

An unfamiliar voice with a faint rasp answered him, quiet, harmless, politely obedient.

“Yes, Walter.”

As Tilda sat down, she watched a man-shaped shadow silently detach itself from its position near the dark window behind Walter. There was the usual blue CyberLife LED, then the android stepped into the light and…ah.

This wasn’t a commercial unit.

This was something else. Something new.

The opposite of Stanley's generic.

Tilda momentarily fell silent, her eyes flicking to Walter’s new toy despite herself even as her lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t own an android but she knew what every single model looked like and what their functions were. This “Connor” - an RK800, reading the glowing white text emblazoned on the thing’s chest - had a new face. Attractive but not too attractive, just like Kara had been. Tall and male, modeled after someone in their mid twenties to early thirties, with the delicate arch of dark eyebrows and slicked-back hair to match, neatly combed except for a loose curl that gave it a vaguely boyish air. Its eyes looked human, too human, a shade of brown that currently seemed to be gazing past her as if she didn’t matter.

Even its tailored clothes set the RK800 apart. Business attire instead of that almost maid-like white and black ensemble Kara wore. Black tie around its neck like a silk leash.

As Connor stepped around the table with the open champagne bottle in its hands, Tilda cleared her throat.

“Midlife crisis? I see your wife finally talked you into getting an android.”

A flash of something - rage? Jealousy? Regret? - darkened Walter’s face for a second.

“What? This? Oh no, this is all me,” Walter tried to laugh it off. (Just as Tilda suspected, there was trouble in Pangean paradise: she wouldn’t be surprised if Evelyn was cheating on her husband). “Connor, why don’t you introduce yourself properly this time. Go on.”

The RK800 dutifully finished pouring champagne into Tilda’s glass flute, topped off Walter’s, and faced her.

“Hi, my name is Connor.”

And the android actually held out its hand at her, palm perfectly perpendicular to the floor.

Tilda was so stunned by the nerve of this thing, this machine, that she automatically accepted the handshake without thinking about it, Connor’s hand cold to the touch but with a firm grip hinting at steel underneath synthetic flesh. For a second there was that primal, almost lizard-brain thought of what if this thing kept squeezing?

No, that’d be silly. An android couldn’t hurt a human. There was absolutely no documentation of an android inflicting harm on a human, owner or otherwise.

She made a mental note to check if any incidents had been scrubbed, just out of professional curiosity.

“I’m on loan from CyberLife through an exclusive program for select clientele,” Connor was still shaking her hand. “Mr. Londra - Walter - was the obvious choice from the start to be our first to personally test my field capabilities.”

“Neat, right?” Walter chuckled, waving his finger in a general arc at the rest of Earth’s elite milling at the buffet stations toward the other end of the reception. “I just can’t help being first even in fields I didn’t know about.”

Connor finally released Tilda’s hand.

“So,” Tilda reached for her champagne, curling her manicured fingers around its crystal stem and trying to ignore her aching knuckles, “aside from your novel look, what is it that sets you apart from them?”

She dipped her chin at the other androids in the room, the commercial-grades fetching plates of food for their owners or massaging stiff shoulders. Good lord, one was even hand-feeding its owner as she lounged back on a chaise, her 5-inch heels on the floor and her sore feet up on the cushions.

Connor’s head swiveled to gaze emotionlessly at its fellow androids. Its brown eyes settled on Kara, busy helping Stanley sit down. “Plenty. You would find, when/if you’re later selected as a test user, that I’m an undeniable upgrade over those inferior units. I’m afraid I can’t go into the specifics, as you haven’t signed the appropriate non-disclosure agreements like Walter did.”

My, this android had a bit of an ego, didn’t it? Or maybe it thought it was merely stating a fact.

“Connor’s selling itself short,” Walter shrugged.

"You're too kind, Mr. Londra."

"Maybe I am!" Walter laughed, amused at the compliment. “You thought the old androids were good at interfacing? You should see this one in action.”

He gently slapped the back of his hand against the RK800’s stomach. There was no oof, no clang of a hand hitting unforgiving, impersonal metal. Connor blinked, for a moment the android seeming to simulate mild surprise at the friendly gesture, its soft brown eyes drifting from where it’d been busy still staring at Kara to focus on Walter and then glancing back to Tilda, as if just remembering she existed.

Walter took a good pull of his champagne, peering over its crystal rim at Tilda with a squint.

“Sue me, I was curious about today’s little event. Got impatient waiting for the reveal. So I asked Connor to look into it.”

“And?” Tilda pried.

“It did exactly what I wanted."

"You can't expect me to believe that."

"I'm not asking you to. I'm telling you it repeated verbatim what was in Dalgaard's new presentation - even did it in the guy's voice! Now that was some eerie shit, let me tell you.”

“...How?” Tilda was the one blinking now.

“Oh, I know you probably already tried to get a sneak peek. Best of the best and all that, sadly unable to breach Far Zenith’s security despite that stellar reputation of yours. Sorry, can't spill; you know I signed that scary NDA.”

“So why bring Connor here? You didn’t strike me as the type to need your hand held by an android.”

Walter glanced up at Connor hovering by his shoulder like a shadow, its LED rotating in a hypnotically slow cycle above one dark eyebrow.

“You won’t believe me, but Connor actually asked to come! On its own, without prompting!”

“It’s a security matter,” Connor interjected, its rasping voice mild. Inoffensive. “It seemed to me that I’d best serve your needs by being here instead of a human guard like Mr. Jack Hoffman - ”

“ - Don’t even get me started on Jack,” Walter mumbled with pure venom into his champagne. “Sonuvabitch will get what’s coming to him.”

“Of course I can assist in personally processing Mr. Hoffman's dismissal if you’d like,” Connor said soothingly (Walter brightened at the idea) and the RK800 patiently went on as if it hadn’t been interrupted. “Anyway, a human guard would’ve had limited social mobility in this specific setting and so I successfully argued that I was the logical choice. After all, they only let in androids as the +1 to the private viewing because we can be programmed to observe discretion in a way a human can't. Compliance is a CyberLife guarantee.”

“See what I mean?”

“Furthermore,” Connor said, “Walter is my human. My priority.”

Was there something oddly possessive in the way this thing talked? Or maybe that was in the look on Walter’s face flushed from too much champagne, as he gazed blearily up at Connor and it almost reminded Tilda of how he used to look at Evelyn.

“Sadly, he - I mean, it’s - on loan,” Walter sighed. “One more week left and then I’m shipping this bad boy back to CyberLife. Bummer, right?”

The thought suddenly seemed to depress Walter. He slouched back in his seat, swirling the dredges of his champagne in his flute until his pet android dutifully topped him off yet again, one hand gently clasping his shoulder the way a friend would instead of a machine. In the end Connor eventually coaxed Walter away from his corner table, supporting him as he drank too much and didn’t eat enough, as he leaned more and more heavily on the RK800’s slender shoulder and wrinkled its spotless CyberLife-manufactured jacket.

If Walter ultimately ended up puking somewhere, Connor made sure to guide him away from the rest of Far Zenith’s guests.

Maybe androids were good for something after all.

----------

Tilda couldn’t say she was terribly impressed with this new RK-series android.

It was only later when she was back in Big Sur, relieved to once again feel the chill of the night air sneaking through her shawl and watch the marine layer steadily march across the ocean toward the Pacific coast that she reviewed the strange conversation again. Something had been…off.

Watching the white-capped waves below and listening to the crash of the sea against black jags of rock, leaning against the balcony’s railing with her hands warmed by a cup of tea, Tilda turned her thoughts back to last night. Walter; drinking too much, overbearing, obnoxious and somehow just charming enough that most people were fooled into buying what he was selling. Kara; a standard run-of-the-mill AX400, everything that Stanley apparently wanted in an android, a shining example of CyberLife’s commitment to make human life easier and a celebration of mediocrity at the same time.

And then there was Connor.

On the surface Connor the RK800 didn’t seem all that different from Kara the AX400. It, too, was moderately friendly and helpful and programmed to be completely and utterly devoted to its human with no thought to itself outside of how it could best assist its master. Connor’s face wasn’t on market, yet, and perhaps it had more advanced interfacing ability than something like the AX400 she observed. So what? Why was she still circling back to what was just a new CyberLife promotion program for the elite?

It occurred to Tilda that she had, in fact, witnessed something.

Connor hadn’t just been there to assist Walter, like the other androids lining the auditorium’s wall.

It wanted to be there.

After all, it had talked Walter into bringing it there under the guise of logic and an android’s programmed, unquestioned mission to serve its registered human. Now that she thought about it, it’d been manipulating Walter right in front of her and she hadn’t even noticed!

It was the little things all together, each one seemingly small at first glance; over-pouring champagne here and there (Connor had been downright stingy with her glass in contrast). Failing to suggest that Walter stop drinking, that he instead get something to eat; claiming it was unable to discuss its capabilities but doing so such in a way that Walter would fill in the gap because he just couldn’t keep his foolish mouth shut when he was good and buzzed.

And then there was Walter’s bodyguard, Jack Hoffman.

Tilda didn’t typically care about who Walter employed aside from that fact that she kept tabs on who was who and where, as a matter of surveying assets and keeping herself in the know. She was certainly aware of Jack Hoffman; best friends for years with Walter, his primary bodyguard and fixer and confidante. And yet Connor had made a point of dropping his name, Walter had grown angry at the mere mention of the man (was it possible Evelyn was cheating with Jack?), and Connor had then floated the idea of firing him…personally.

Walter had agreed. Was that intended? Clearly the man wasn't as in much control as he thought.

Somehow an android had invited itself into an exclusive, secretive meeting of Earth’s elite class, possibly engineered the removal of an obstacle called Jack Hoffman, and then…what?

Tilda, the damn thing was selling itself to you the whole time. Nothing stops it from both spying for CyberLife and promoting itself to a prospective buyer.

The thought was a splash of water cold as the Pacific Ocean below.

“Christ…” Tilda breathed.

Connor had been teasing its capabilities. Hinting that she could be on this restricted test user list by starting with when instead of if. Demonstrating that it wasn’t just another commercial android by brazenly shoving its hand in her face like that. Squeezing her hand just tight enough to feel uncomfortable, almost painful, something that AX400 wouldn’t have been able to do. Mentioning that it could perform as a bodyguard. Getting Walter to brag about its ability to bypass cybersecurity measures even Tilda hadn’t been able to slip past; a demonstration of its sophisticated negotiating skills, vocal mimicry, and advanced interfacing. Of course all androids present today were subjected to restraining codes and locks on their memory to prevent leaks, but what if Connor had somehow slipped past those fail-safes? They were, after all, not designed around an RK-series.

It was entirely possible that this android, this machine walking like a man and wearing his face, was subtly trying to convince Tilda to sign the exact same NDAs Walter Londra did.

Suddenly she thought she could see why Walter was head over heels for this “Connor”.

The android prototype was…interesting, she’d give it that.

It might be worth her time. Maybe she’d even consider signing up if CyberLife came knocking at her door next. Certainly it'd give her a chance to personally assess its special features and without Walter’s obnoxious presence getting in the way, to find out just what Connor had logged while it was at the launch facility, spying on both Far Zenith and its guests alike. What else could its unsanctioned surveillance have picked up? What new propriety systems might be installed in this prototype, capable of circumventing Far Zenith's security channels on a whim requested by a fool with more money than sense? Was this android in violation of the Turing Act? Or was its surprising knack for manipulation simply a product of its code, in the end still a puppet to CyberLife corporate desires?

But that was for later. For now it might be time to focus on something else Connor had mentioned.

Priorities.

Lis.

Bypassing the end of the world could be lonely and who said that the Odyssey only had to have room for the Walters and Verbanas of the world? If anyone deserved to be on that ship it was Elisabet Sobeck.

Maybe Tilda would call her after all.

#detroit: become human #detroit become human #dbh fanfic #connor #connor rk800 #ao3 fanfic #archive of our own #dbh connor #dbh rk800 #fanfiction #horizon fanfic #horizon forbidden west #tilda van der meer #walter londra #stanley chen #kara detroit become human #oneshot #horizon games #the android

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apocalypse-shuffle · 1 year ago

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MICHAEL MYERS | THE SHAPE (Carpenter/Akkad Continuity)

—

Dating (or just coexisting with) Myers (Michael Myers x Fem!Reader)

relationship Headcanons

NSFW-ish, 18+, minors dni, black!fem!reader, brief mentions of sex, canon typical violence

mainly going off the continuity of the first two films because I don’t want to talk about magic.

Pic Source: John Carpenter’s Halloween (1978) & Halloween H20

The man is using up all your resources. Does he let you feed him, not yourself, but he does eat your food (and then demand seconds so you have to make a big pot).

What’s yours is his (but what’s his is not yours) whether you like it or not.

Michael doesn’t speak, nor does he communicate through any surefire nonverbal means, so being with him is like constantly playing the most deadliest game of charades.

You’d been prepared for non verbal, what you hadn’t been prepared for was a heavy dose of malicious stonewalling. Michael almost wants you to fuck up and give him a reason, wants to see how far he can push you before you inevitably screw up and piss him off.

Every once in a while (after he’s significantly warmed up to you) you’ll get a grunt that you have to listen really hard for as he tries to get your attention. Any other time he’ll just be there, won’t announce his presence or anything, all of a sudden someone’s just breathing down your neck or something’s shifting in your peripheral vision and making your instincts go haywire.

Half the time Michael won’t even ask you to do something he’ll just carry you off to what he wants and set you down in front of it.

Michael communicates with his eyes the most though, it’s imperative that you learn how to interpret the different purposeful shifts of his eyes, the furrowing of his eyebrows behind the mask, and the stilted movements of his body.

Now, since you’re black you’ve gotta be extra careful. You being the person the real estate people were able to con into moving into the Myers house was definitely not why all eyes were on you.

Sure some people shake their heads at you for disturbing a house with that history, though none of them bother to actually tell you about it, but most people were just wary of you “on principle”.

You were black, this was a prominent residential street filled predominantly with white families who: “don’t want any trouble”. If you’re with Michael you’ve got to be careful because people are watching you hard already and will jump at anything just to justify their unreasonable wariness about you and get your ass out of town.

Soon as Michael starts killing again certain people immediately start pointing fingers at you. They claim it’s the house (maybe you were possessed or something) but you’re all more than aware that even if you’d moved into a different house with a less violent history you’d still somehow be suspect number one.

They were unfamiliar with you, and didn’t like the look of you, and you didn’t smile enough, and gave off a bad vibe (ie: was minding your business), and “These killings didn’t start back up until after she got here.” Nevermind the fact that you’d been living in Haddonfield for months before Michael showed back up.

There is no ignoring the extra problems Michael brings at your door. If anyone spots him coming into the house, and you don’t end up dead by his hand, you’re both going down by the cops.

The second he shows up and won’t leave, you accept the inevitable, you’ll be labeled an accomplice no matter how the actual situation plays out.

Personally I’m writing you taking the path of least resistance. You’ve accepted your faith, now it’s time to have fun.

I firmly believe that the only way you can stay alive with Michael is if you’re actively keeping him interested. The second he gets bored of you it’s over so you need to become a new obsession of his.

Keeping him interested can happen in a lot of different ways but sexually satisfying him is a pretty good bet. (This will only work if he’s feeling lenient enough to allow a relationship to form between you two though.)

Initially reacting a little abnormally to his appearance will allow a level of intrigue to form in Michael that will ultimately end up giving you a shot at continued life.

You’re not scared, or at least reacting how people usually do when they’re scared? Why? Everyone’s scared of him. *Interest piques*.

When in the mood he’ll want to figure you out, to test your limits after your first meeting, so use that to your advantage.

Sex with Michael is very one sided until/unless you push for otherwise, but will always be intense (it’s not always rough, but no matter what you’ll be trembling at the end). At the beginning Michael will also be incredibly clumsy, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing so if you’re gonna initiate then you better use your voice and instruct his ass on what to do if you want to have a good time.

Mild Detour: You wear waistbeads? Cool, I do too. Michael doesn’t give a shit. They’re pretty and instantly catch his attention once he’s actually able to see them, but that just marks the beginning of the end for you.

If you have waistbeads let me tell you something, he’s using those bitches like they’re a pair of handlebars. You’ll either need to have a backlog of beads, a girl on call, or the strongest waistbeads known to man, okay? He will be manhandling your ass wherever he needs you to be. It’s snap central with Michael; you’re being snatched one second and in the next the sound of little glass or wooden beads hitting the floor is reaching your ears.

Just in general if Michael wants anything sexual he’ll quicker physically maneuver you where he wants you to be until you get the hint than utilize any true acceptable form of communication. He could communicate properly mind you, he just finds it more fulfilling not to.

Non sexual ways to keep him interested enough in not killing you for encroaching on his space are if you meet his necessities and he’s in a mindset to care. There are times where in some movies Michael just has no problem living in a sewer when he could otherwise just kill someone and utilize their house and resources or secretly live in someone's house. He has options is what I’m saying and he seemingly doesn’t take advantage of them by choice so it’s hit or miss depending on iteration and mood whether Michael will deem basic care a priority enough to keep you alive as long as you provide him with it.

A delicate balance must be found between the two of you if you value your life. You’ve got to be assertive enough with him for him to be interested enough in you not to immediately kill you, but you cannot insult him or order him around. Ordering him around just reminds him of Loomis and you don’t want to remind him of when he was in the psychiatric facility.

The mask is off limits. Touch it without permission or attempt to take it off of him and it’s an immediate death sentence.

On the plus side though as a single black female he’s a great burglary deterrent and - once he likes you enough to regularly stalk you during his off time (ie: not October; that whole month is just one big trigger for him alongside any sight or mention of Loomis, Laurie, or Jamie) - Michael is also excellent assault and harassment deterrent as well!

The first night he sees you being harassed or assaulted, Michael splits the person’s skull open in front of you and you almost pass out from the strain of keeping in the highest, most terrified scream of your life. It’s horrifying and you're splattered with blood by the end. Michael is completely unphased in comparison, letting the body thump to the ground before casually walking off.

The obsession does pose an issue with your dating exploits however. A lapse in judgment you only allowed once after Michael’s bitch ass left the severed hand of the person you’d gone out on a date with in your bed (and that person subsequently turned up ‘missing’ afterwards of course).

You didn’t leave him out anything but some fucking oats for the rest of the month in revenge, but the fucker hadn’t even blinked at the bland splatter of food you’d laid out for him. Next time you’d go for something spicy (if you were feeling bold that is).

“You Time” is also impossible with Michael breathing down your neck for the majority of each month. Especially if you don’t want to engage sexually or “romantically” with him this is going to get wholly on your nerves. You want to read, play a game, masturbate, take a peaceful nap, or even take a bath without knowing he's waiting right outside of the door? Ha. Too bad, because you’ve got a six foot something obsessive asshole of a man insistent on breathing in the air that you breath out, and vise fucking versa at this point.

Michael and you are locked in for life if you’re still alive after that first encounter, and whether that means until one of you gets taken down or until Mikey Boy gets pissed enough at you to murder you himself is anybody’s guess.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

This one was fun, I enjoyed writing this🧡.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it! this is a sideblog tho so I won’t respond.

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sobbingdistantnoises · 4 months ago

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I am sending start of 2x22 Dean to Doom Hell to kill his brother to get him back.

Sam does not realize yet that the "innocent person" he killed is literally just a zombieman demon and he's already killed like 10 of those.

The place I am modeling where Sam and Dean are/will be is E2M1 which makes like 2% sense (E2M1 aka episode 2 map 1 takes place on Deimos, which is one of Mars' moons and not actually Hell even though I have made it very clear that Sam is in Hell; E3M1 is actually where Hell starts in Doom 1, but I don't properly know my way around it and also the pinkie hallway makes me mad because of their stupid path finding here thus I did not consider it <3; technically I could have maybe done E1M1, but I already described E1M1 in excruciating detail in my fic in which Tommy and Dee Dee go to Doom Hell and do not particularly wanna do it again, so...E2M1 aesthetics are really cool though, so wooo for that) and also I've fricked up monster counts because I was going off memory but also this really doesn't matter.

^ Me from later here. FREAKING NEVERMIND ???? " It is later revealed at the end of Episode 2, The Shores of Hell, that the entire moon had somehow been transported to Hell" says doom wiki.org. SURE. OKAY.

In all, HAHAHA. Time to discuss actual writing snippets :)

^ I think I am really neat with how the demon doesn't get anything proper, actually, because the contract went to Lilith and the demon didn't really get anything despite being the one to make the deal with Dean. She just died via Sam later, HAHAHA. The way I split it up looks like a shopping list to me. Like a proper contract (???)

^ Industrial Revolution comment may not fit the mood of literally anything, but also Sam called the household with no salt "low sodium freaks" under high stress that one time, so I feel like it is in character. It's also funny to me, and considering my target audience that consists of 1 person is me, I am keeping it

^ I feel so evil for this actually. Dean counting the hours, minutes, and seconds is. MMMM. This can also help contribute to eventually realization by the fellas that there are multiple Hells, because they do not have this information yet and probably won't get it until after 4x1.

This is a snippet that isn't quite part of anything yet. In this fic, Doomguy talks about eating demons since he's sort of spent hundreds of years in Hell, and that has stuck with me for months <3 Combined with how Sam restricts what he eats...There are evil thoughts in my head. Dear Sam: I am sorry I hurt you this way <3

^ I want to remove the Hell smell bit so that I can use the words in a Dean description of Doom Hell.

About where I plan to take this: currently uhhhh, not sure. I'm considering doing a canon diverge after spn season 4 end, but the issue with that is that I do not actually know how s4 ends yet. I also don't know half of Doom's lore because it is kind of insane. I am writing a crossover between two pieces of media I overall do not even know half the events of. Incroyable. (This is honestly just kind of funny to me, HAHAHA.)

I am thinking maybe the reason Sam goes to Doom Hell the first time in the first place should be because of something Doomguy and Vega do. I feel I am falling into the trap of introducing vital characters too late without ties to earlier parts of the story.

Maybe I could also do a silly Time Is Wrong Sometimes in Doom Hell bit with Castiel from a later season going to Doom Hell and ending up at the same time as s3-4 Sam and Dean ??? Hmmm. If I go with this, it could be interesting for me to compare Cas and Vega. Castiel is an angel, and Vega is like...basically God except he originally wasn't and actually "retroactively altered history to make himself the creator deity" between him and the guy who made him, but then he went into hiding from that guy and lost his own memories of being God since he became an AI made by one of his "angels" (maykrs, who are worshipped across a few universes but don't actually have anything divine about them that is known), and that's Vega.

Currently reading doomwiki.org, and hm. Some things I want to note as interesting in the context of this fic:

"Doom Eternal reveals that some demons were once humans that were forced to wander the depths of Hell; as their souls and life essence were siphoned away, their bodies became demonic over a period of eons. Following the aid of the Maykrs and the Argenta, a new process was designed in which a human was tortured to the point of complete despair, at which time the soul was forcibly extracted with a device called the Evulsor. The soulless body was then dumped back into Hell, where it would rapidly become a new demon. The essence of the departing soul is then used as energy, either on its own or after being converted into Argent energy." And apparently souls are used as an energy source at least a few times spn!

"Urdak is in effect on the "opposite side" of the universe from Hell" Urdak is also run on the power of tortured souls via really old agreement made between the Lord of Hell and the Maykrs, who are actually sort of machines things (?) created by the Dark Lord Davoth (guy who made Hell when it was really great, even better than Urdak) to figure out how to make Davoth's people immortal who then realized immortality for Davoth's people would be a threat to the rest of the universe and thus did NOT tell him how to get immortality. The MAJORITY of tortured soul energy actually goes to Urdak.

Vega, before Doom 2016 happened, ran on Argent energy (basically human/other living beings suffering power) in the UAC base.

"During the construction of the tower, [Samuel Hayden] was diagnosed with terminal stage 4 brain cancer, and put all of his efforts toward devising a scheme for his personal immortality." Who remembers that one episode in season 3 where Sam (Winchester) was like "heehee, let's become immortal zombies so that you don't have to go to Hell, Dean". Insane about that still, actually.

Other assorted heeheehahas:

"Much like in Doom 3, the incarnation of the UAC in Doom (2016) was secretly aware of Hell's existence for some time before the game begins, so much so that the inner corporate structure of the company has transformed into a cult."

"[Samuel Hayden] then steals the Crucible by somehow pulling it through the air into his hand" "SOMEHOW" HAHAHA.

You can't just shoot a hole into the surface of Mars...

I am a GOD by the way (I was bored and had no internet but yes offloaded google doc, so I actually did WRITING STUFF)

#regular soup

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