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skbeaumont · 7 months ago

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Scars – A Joel Miller/Reader Oneshot

“You have them too.” You say, tracing your fingertips along the pale scar that sits at the side of his head, disappearing into thick dark hair. “Yes,” He replies, his voice thick, accent dragging out the vowel. “Show me.”

Summary: When Joel stumbles into the kitchen at 2am, restless and tense, he doesn't expect to find you at the table, nursing a cold mug of tea. He certainly doesn't expect to end up tracing the scars on your skin, explaining how he got his, your hands mapping the contors of each other's old wounds until something new emerges.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, mutual pining, kind of angsty but also fluffy?, descriptions of old injuries, explicit sex, PIV, fingering, dirty talk, body worship, flirting, yearning, mentions of alcohol.

Word Count: 3.3k

It’s late, and the rest of Jackson is asleep.

A single street lamp lights the dark kitchen, casting a soft orange glow over the table and your half empty mug. The tea is long-since cold, but you keep your hands wrapped around it anyway, trying to soak up the last of its heat. There’s a microwave behind you, and a coffee machine, and enough hot water to fill several baths, but after twenty years of surviving by fire light and camping stoves, these modern conveniences still seem like the technology of your childhood, distant and unrealistic. And so the tea remains cold.

You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to the normality of Jackson: the routine and order and kindness that seeps into every interaction, every town meeting and evening out. It’s been four months since you arrived – limping and half-dead, frozen almost solid by the bitter Wyoming winter – at the town’s gates.

And now you’re inside on a mild spring night, sharing a house with a man and his not-daughter, healthy and almost whole again. The town council were apologetic about housing you with Joel and Ellie: it was the only house with a spare bedroom at the time, but in truth it had been a relief. There was something overwhelmingly comforting about being around other people again, sleeping only a thin wall away from another human being, sharing meals and chores.

Joel’s quiet and serious most of the time, but you see cracks appearing in his hard exterior when he’s with Ellie, or his brother Tommy. Something of the man that existed before the world ended. And more recently he’s started opening up to you, too; rolling his eyes at you behind Ellie’s back when she swears or insults houseguests, chuckling at your bad jokes, letting his guard down when he gets home from a hard day’s construction work, allowing you to make him hot drinks and massage his sore shoulders.

You’re careful not to push anything too far, but the slow roll into familiarity with Joel has bred something less familial, too. Something wanting and churning that settles deep in your belly when you’re around him. It makes you want to press yourself against him, settle yourself in the crook of his shoulder, lick the thick tendons of his neck. Whether he feels the same is a mystery. He’s older than you by a couple of decades, not that that matters to you – you’re both adults – but he maintains a distance. Lets you massage his shoulders but never makes a sound while you do it. Holds the door open for you but keeps a respectful distance when you walk side-by-side through town. Allows you to rest your feet in his lap in the evenings on the sofa, but doesn’t touch them, or acknowledge them. You’ve heard him moving around in the night, restless and fidgety, but he never comes to your room on those long dark nights seeking comfort or companionship.

He's been quiet since he went to bed several hours earlier on this particular night, which is why it’s a shock when the kitchen light flickers on, illuminating Joel’s broad silhouette in the doorway. You scramble out of the chair onto your feet, heart thumping. He holds a hand up, calmingly, doesn’t move as your eyes adjust to the light.

“Fucking hell, Joel. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” He takes a step into the kitchen, feet bare on the terracotta tiles.

He’s still in his clothes from today, dark jeans under a thin grey tee, both slightly crumpled as though he’s slept in them. He always does. Undoubtedly it’s the same ritual that makes him keep a pistol on his bedside table, leave a packed go-bag by the front door; the same anxiety that casts dark shadows under his eyes, fuels his insomnia and maintains his habitual whiskey drinking. He’s ready for anything, always, because he’s been through shit and he thinks at any moment it’ll happen again. You understand. It’s why you’re in the kitchen at 2am, cold tea clutched between shaking hands.

“Couldn’t sleep?” You ask, as he opens a high cupboard and pulls out a tumbler.

You move around him, tip the dregs of your tea down the sink.

“Something like that,” He replies, voice croaky.

He pours the whiskey out into the glass, swirls it in thick fingers and then rests back against the kitchen counter opposite you, eyes finally finding yours. They hover for a moment on your face, dark and penetrating, then flick to one shoulder, the other, down your arm.

You keep them covered, normally. Wear long sleeves even in the heat of summer, never undress around anyone. You’ve avoided the swimming pond that opened three weeks ago, even though the water looked heavenly in the warm April weather, unwillingly to bear the scars that litter your body to the town, afraid they’ll show the community who you really are, reveal the terrible things you’ve done to survive. But unlike Joel you don’t have a habit of sleeping in your clothes, and the thin vest and shorts you’re wearing now reveals those long-hidden scars to him in the bright kitchen light.

The bullet wound is the worst one; a puckered, deep purple starburst across one shoulder, skin wrought into something alien and terrible. It’s this one that his gaze linger on, dark eyes making heat roll up your spine. His fist is gripping the whiskey glass so tightly that the tips of his fingers and knuckles are white with the strain of it.

“They’re awful, I know.” You say into the silence.

“What? No- God, no. They’re not.” A pause, his eyes flicking away from yours, over to the far wall, back across. “I’ve got ‘em, too. We all have.”

You scoff at this. Move your hand up, place it on your shoulder. His hand twitches where it rests on the countertop, but he doesn’t move.

“You cover them.” He says. It’s not a question, but you feel like you have to answer anyway.

“Yes.” A breath, shaky on the exhale. “They’re ugly.” “No.” His voice is firm, commanding in the quiet kitchen. Despite yourself, you feel heat pooling between your thighs and you fidget, pressing them together, crossing your feet. The movement makes his eye dart down to your bare legs. You watch the apple of his throat as he swallows thickly, eyes trailing up to the hem of your shorts. There’s a scar there, too, bisecting your upper thigh. Thin and white, a reminder of a long ago incident with barbed wire.

“They’re not…” His voice trails off, eyes searching your face. “Nothing on you is ugly. Not even the scars. Especially not the scars.”

“No?”

“No.” He shifts, puts the whiskey glass down on the counter behind him and lifts his hand to your shoulder. Fingertips trace the edge of the bullet scar, and you feel goosepimples rise in their wake despite the warmth of the kitchen. He runs his hand up past its end, to your throat, along your collar bone and to the other arm. The scars there are paler, older. Shrapnel and grazes from a fall. Each one his fingertips trace reverently, as though they’re a holy text written across your skin. When he reaches the last, the one that loops around your wrist, the indent of a handcuff, you’re sure your heart is thumping so loudly he must be able to hear it, too. Slick is pooling between your thighs, hot and wet against the thin shorts you’re wearing.

“There are more,” You say, so quietly that it’s almost a whisper.

“Show me.”

It’s like a dance. You pull off your vest and Joel’s hand follows the curve of your waist, thumb dipping to press the small coin-shaped scar just below your rib cage. You sigh and he lets his hand run over your ribs, fingertips finding the spaces between like piano keys. When he reaches the curve of your bare breast he pauses, the weight of your flesh resting in the valley between his index finger and thumb. You don’t say anything, just lean into him, holding his eye contact, the pleasure and warmth of his hand making you bold. He moves slowly, carefully, rolling the bud of your nipple between his finger and thumb, pinching just so, pleasure blossoming in your chest, down your spine and to your cunt.

“This okay?” He asks, eyes flicking up from his hand to your face, tracking the pull of your eyebrows as they pitch together, the move of your mouth as you answer him with a shaky exhale.

“What about this one?” He asks, hand leaving your breast to trace across the scar that laces up your thigh under the hem of your shorts. “Can I?”

You’re not sure what he’s asking but you know that you want him to, want him to do whatever it is he’s asking so you nod. His hand grip your waist to lift you, setting you down on the kitchen counter. You grasp at his shoulders, the solid breadth of him hard under your hands. The counter is cold against the back of your legs, but before you can complain his hot hand is wrapped back around your thigh, thumb tracing the scar there again, fingertips inching up to the apex of your legs. He moves to stand between your open legs, still keeping a few inches of distance between you, the extra height of the counter making your eyes level. His burn into your face as he slips his hand higher still, fingers seeking out the wet heat of you, dipping inside, gathering slick and gliding it up to your clit.

“Joel,” You say into the aching gap between your lips and his.

“You’re fucking perfect,” He says, the words hot on your mouth, his breath mingling with your needy sighs. “All of you, you understand?”

You can only nod into his shoulder, head dropping to rest against the broad heft of it, his fingers thrumming a steady rhythm against your clit that has pleasure ratcheting up inside you. You’re still in your tiny sleep shorts, Joel’s hand forcing the crotch aside to palm at your drenched cunt. He slips two thick fingers into you, presses his thumb to your clit, and that tips you over the edge, pleasure coursing through you like fire.

He talks you through it, keeps up the firm press of his fingers, praises falling from his lips like prayers.

Good girl, that’s it, such a good fucking girl for me, taking what you need, so fucking perfect.

It’s only then, as you come down from the high, that he finally kisses you, tilting your head up with a gentle hand and fitting his lips to yours. They’re soft and dry, plush against your own. He slides his tongue against the seam of your lips, into the wet heat of your mouth, pulls back, before driving forward again, breathless and frantic. You thread your hands into the hair at the base of his neck, tugging him against you, teeth clashing in your mutual desperation. His pulls his fingers from your wet heat, smears your slick up your sides as his palms your breasts, his earlier gentleness gone. But when you slip a hand between your bodies, seeking out the hard length of him in his jeans, he pulls back. His eyes are dark despite the bright kitchen light, pupils eating up the thin sliver of brown at the edges, but there’s a reticence there.

“You have them too.” You say, tracing your fingertips along the pale scar that sits at the side of his head, disappearing into thick dark hair.

“Yes,” He replies, his voice thick, accent dragging out the vowel.

“Show me.”

He steps back, out of the circle of your legs, pulls at the neck of his t-shirt and drags it up, over his head and off. His eyes are fixed on you, watching you as you take in the broad bulk of him, the sloping plains of his shoulders and chest down to a softer stomach. He’s all strength: hard where you’re soft, his scars stretched across thick muscle and tanned flesh. There’s one at his side that canters a jagged line across his stomach, and that’s where your hand goes, holding his waist to rest your thumb against its uneven edge. It looks fairly fresh, no more than a couple of years old, still red.

“What’s this from?” You ask.

“I was stabbed,” He replies, “while I was with Ellie.”

“It looks like it was bad.”

“Well, she stitched it up, so,” He smiles, a hint of mischief returning to his eyes, growing bolder as your hands map his chest and stomach.

“And this one?” An old one, hardly noticeable in the light, to the right of his belly button.

“Appendicitis, when I was twelve.”

“These?” A collection of four or five small white gash marks, peppered across his shoulders and along his collarbone.

“Makeshift grenade.” He says. “Went off in my hand.”

You lean forward, press your lips to the first of the scars and kiss it, drag your lips along to the second, and then the third. At the fourth you let your tongue dart out, tasting the skin at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, salty and warm. He stands stock still as you do so, hands resting at your hips, fingertips gripping the flesh there tight enough to leave bruises. He sighs at the feel of your tongue against his skin, the insistent press of your mouth to his collarbone, your teeth, scraping at the tendon that jolts in his neck.

This time, when you reach for the button of his jeans he helps you, pops the first button, drags the zipper down and pushes them off his hips, revealing thick thighs corded with muscle, dusted with dark hair. He kicks the jeans the rest of the way off, steps forward again into the circle of your hips, letting you knead the thick flesh of his ass, pull him against you so that his hot length is pressed to the crotch of your shorts, two pieces of thin cotton the only thing separating you.

You kiss up the column of his throat, press your teeth to his ear lobe, and are rewarded with a soft groan that sends pleasure sparking up your spine again, cunt clenching down on nothing. His cock twitches against you when you lick a stripe along the underside of his jaw. You fit your lips back to his. This kiss is sloppy and uncoordinated, teeth clashing, his strong nose pressed to yours, one of his hands fisting in your hair, gripping tight at the ponytail at the base of your neck, holding you to him. You shuffle on the counter, pull your shorts off and down to join his jeans and shirt on the tiled floor.

“Take them off,” You say into his mouth, needy fingers sliding into the waistband of his briefs, seeking the length of him.

He does as you ask, bending to push them down, cock dipping and slapping up against his stomach as he frees it. He’s big, thick and beautiful, veins standing out against the shaft, precum beading at the tip. He hisses into your open mouth when you wrap your fist around him and stroke slowly up and down, thumb seeking out his slit, spreading his arousal and yours over it and down his length.

“Jesus, darlin’,” He sighs against the side of your neck, stubble rough against you, his hands seeking out the weight of your tits again, pressing open mouthed kisses against your skin.

You pull him back against you, press the blunt head of him to your slick entrance and watch him watch himself sink inside you, inch by inch, stretching you open. The burn of it is intoxicating, his thick length opening you up, pressing inside deliciously, white-hot pleasure blossoming up through your body.

“Feels so good, Joel,” You tell him as he shakes against you, bottoming out and dragging himself out only to press back inside.

“Pussy’s so goddamn perfect,” He says, his voice almost cracking with the effort of it.

“Please, Joel,” you hiss, “harder, please.”

The sound he makes then is animalistic, something between a grunt and a growl, teeth clenched, jaw pressed hard to your neck. He tightens his grip on your hips, anchors you to the counter and starts pounding into you. The strength of him is something to behold, his hips snapping into yours, muscles of his back shifting and clenching beneath your grasping hands.

“So fucking good,” he groans, “wanna stay inside you for the rest of my fucking life, darlin’.”

You don’t know how he’s so articulate; it’s all you can do to hold on to his shoulders and let him fuck you, whimpers and moans pouring from your open lips as he does, the slap of his hips against yours filthy in the otherwise silent house. When he slows his thrusts again he pulls back from you to watch where you’re joined, eyes dark, perspiration beading on his forehead. There’s a vein in his neck that’s pulsing visibly, a drop of sweat trickling down beside it, charting a course through patchy stubble. He reaches between your bodies, splays his hand over your mound and presses his thumb to your clit.

“Yes, Joel, please, God.”

“I can feel how close you are, darlin’” He says, “can feel you gripping me so tight.”

He strums his thumb over the swollen bundle of nerves, drawing small, tight circles that have you seeing stars within seconds, tension coiling inside you, ratcheting up until it breaks on a hard thrust of his hips, his cock hitting that spongy place inside you that sends pleasure right down to your toes. You come hard, fingernails digging into the hard flesh of his shoulders, Joel’s mouth clamped to your throat, teeth worrying the skin there, repeating the same phrase over and over as you come down.

There it is, there it is, good girl, I’ve got you.

He thrusts lazily into you as you slowly relax again, little aftershocks continuing for several long minutes, the blunt head of him hitting that same spot inside you again and again. You can tell he’s close now, his hands shaking where they’re gripping your hips again, face set in concentration, squeezing his eyes shut every few thrusts as though he’s desperately trying to hold himself back.

“Let go, Joel. Please,” You whisper, and he hisses through his teeth, pulls you bodily forward on the counter so that the angle changes and he can drive up into you, his pace quickening again.

“Jesus fucking Christ, darlin’” He rasps, thrusting into you once- twice- three more times.

He pulls out then, fist gripping the base of his cock as he paints your stomach and cunt with his cum, hot and thick. His face is a rapture, eyes pitch black, teeth bared with pleasure and need, the strong set of his jaw holding together what little restraint he has left.

He kisses you again after, drags kitchen roll from the holder to clean you up, presses sweet lips to your cheeks and temples, down your neck, across your chest, like he’s trying to taste the ecstasy that’s written across your heated skin.

Outside, dawn is quickly approaching. The weak rays of sunlight that filter into the kitchen illuminate the tan glow of Joel’s face and paint the scars on your bodies in pale yellow light. You don’t think anything’s ever looked more beautiful.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel x reader #joel x you #the last of us fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfic

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the-froschamethyst4 · 7 months ago

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Their Career Change After the Military

————

COD Men Headcanons

————

König

Househusband

He was tired all the time after coming back from the Military so he picked up on being a househusband and doing all the chores around the house while his s/o goes to work

It started out as making lunches for you

Then hand delivering them to you before lunch

He also started to fix things around the house he told you not to call someone for because he could look it up and do it himself free of charge

Hates messes now. He started to develop this thing where he hates messes no matter what it was. It wasn’t OCD, but he hates when he cleans something and thing a few seconds later gets dirty again

Cleans…that’s all he does when he’s bored

Hardly sits, he only sits if he needs a break from whatever he’s doing

————

Ghost

Police officer

He misses how he use to help in the military so picked up an application and filled it out to be an officer

He guards around the royal palace to keep those stupid and annoying tourists in line when touching the royal palaces horses at the gates

His voice starts to slowly become more deeper over the years from telling pedestrians to leave the horses alone

Of course they listened to man holding a gun, not like he was ever going to use it, it was just to make myself look scary

Honestly hates working in the cold or rain but does it for his job

Gets shy when his s/o comes around to have lunch with him. He waits till he is relieved from duty to go eat with his partner

He loves seeing his s/o come around in cute outfits he knows that he will fold to

————

Price

Office manager

Loves wearing the suits to get a rouse from his s/o

Loves it when his s/o visits him in the office just to drop something off he forgot at home or just to have lunch together

Got the job because he knew some people that could help get this job after he retired from the military

His desk at his work his boring with a small framed picture of his s/o sitting next to his pc

He doesn’t go to the office parties, he’d rather stay home with his s/o and not have to worry about them, he deals with them long enough at work he doesn’t need to be there for after hours

Doesn’t have a “work wife/husband” because he’s married

————

Soap

Mechanic

Took the job because he liked fixing cars

He was a personal mechanic to a race car driver for some time but quit to open his own shop

Makes a lot

He fixes his s/o car for free

Has his personal project with a Porsche 911 GT3 that he does drag races in

His personal car has nothing special but maybe a loud exhaust pipe

Takes time in his work, if it’s something bad like a busted engine he’s going to take his time not rush the process just to get the car out of his shop. If it takes a month it’s going to take a month

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Alejandro

Stock Broker

He didn’t want the job at first knowing it’s probably boring but when his friend bragged about the almost 3 million dollars sitting in his pocket

Took the job and makes close to 5 million

It’s a love hate relationship type of job. Hates it because of the people he works with, loves it because he gets to spend his money on his s/o

His s/o meets him for lunch dates

Doesn’t go to work parties

He does pull the late night hours coming close to 3 in the morning but doesn’t have to go to work till 11

He likes trying on new suits he bought to show them off to his s/o to see their opinion on his suits

Alejandro’s desk is full of random papers from other co-workers and from customers

————

Gaz

Works from home

He starts working from home. He was able to find a job he could work from home from and can go in once a month

Gaz was able to find a job as a I.T. Guy, when Gaz was younger he messed around with coding and helping people with new technology, so he figured this would be good for him

He’s stuck in front of a computer 6 hours a day, but then the rest of his time is with his partner

He loves the view he has from his home office being able to overlook the city as he worked from home and his s/o bring him lunch and snacks every so often

Gaz loves the idea that he can wear whatever he wants to his job and no one will know

Gaz sometimes loses his mind when he has to deal with an elderly who could barely remember their password, there has been many times Gaz would have to remind them that he doesn’t know their passwords

————

Alex

Picks up the hobby of gardening

He lowkey didn’t think he’d enjoy gardening

He thought it was boring till he grew his first strawberry bush with success and no rotten fruit

He started to make the garden bigger and then made a greenhouse for flowers and succulents

Started to sell fruit and vegetables at the local farmers market

Doesn’t make a whole lot and that’s fine with him. What he does make he spends on his garden or his s/o

His s/o also jumps in to help him with the garden

Starts asking his ol’ buddies if they were interested in some of the stuff he grew

The next thing now is he wants chickens to sell their eggs

#cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #fandom #fanfic #call of duty #mw2 #cod #konig call of duty #ghost call of duty #captain price cod #soap call of duty #alejandro cod #gaz cod #alex keller cod

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whatyadrawin · 21 days ago

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The Fruit After The Flesh 18+ -Chapter 17

Minors DNI!

Masterlist

Approximately 5,002 words

Pairing: Thomas Hewitt (Headcanon) x AFAB reader

This chapters Warnings: Sexual language, foul language, mention of violent acts and cannibalism. This is Slasher smut, be mindful of that and use your discretion.

A/n: My course work has slowed down for the next two semesters so I have a bit more time to figure out the last few chapters. There is the possibility of short form bonus material added after the final chapter so it doesn't have to be a stump of a story. Let me know if you want to be in the tag list. I update chapter progress on the masterlist whenever something changes.

Please enjoy this chapter! I worked very hard on it so reblogs, comments, and likes are appreciated very much.

Tag List: @fan-goddess , @artxasa , @baybaybear1 , @amour-tae , @dij-ology , @jillian-mill , @littlelovebug98 , @hrefna-the-raven

Chapter 17

An entire month had passed since Tommy had enhanced the pond area for you, it was now a sanctuary for your mind and body, and you visited it frequently. Luda Mae kept pestering you to come back to the house to live with them, and often times you would sleepover in your old room to placate her requests.

Tommy spent a lot of time with you in that month, as you joined him in his chores while the agriculture techs worked on upgrading your orchards current system. Fortunately for you the work was quick and moderately affordable considering the old system already had above-ground sprinklers set up. The fruit trees were a dream to care for now, only requiring pruning when needed and the harvests had been more abundant than ever thanks to the fancy new technology.

Today was as warm as to be expected for the beginning of August, the wheat field at the Hewitt house was late this year due to unusual spans of damp weather and cool temperatures in June causing a delay in the crop maturity. Charlie and Tommy were extremely busy with the harvest so you took to caring for the animals with Luda Mae while they washed and stored the crops.

You were just about finished filling the feeder and water trough in the chicken coop when you hear Luda Mae call out to you.

“Hi hun, didja get all these little hellraisers sorted?” she says.

You nod and exit through the gate, quickly closing it behind you before a very energetic hen could bolt out. She takes one of the buckets from your hands and helps you put it all away, she wipes her hands on her apron and gives you a smile,

“Welp, the cow stalls are all ready for the night, and the feed is restored. What say we go on n’ get some lemonade before we have to bring ‘em in hm?”

You smile back and agree, the both of you look out towards the wheat field where you can hear Charlie cursing out Tommy like he was a teenager reluctantly holding a flashlight for his dad. Luda Mae sighs,

“No matter how many times I warn him to be nice to my baby, he doesn’t listen and keeps carryin’ on. One day Thomas is gonna have had enough, and then Charlie will find Jesus… so to speak.”

You chuckle, and continue walking toward the house,

“Was he always like that to Tommy? And also, why does Tommy allow him to be mean like that?” you ask. Luda Mae takes some time to think, squishing her lips up as she digs in her memory.

“Hmm, it’s been so long I almost feel like it’s never been different. Charlie started being cruel when Thomas was going through puberty, but he really ain’t never been all that kind to Thomas.”

She opened the front door and led the way to the kitchen where she took out the lemonade and poured two cups, handing you one.

“Thomas ain’t the kind of boy to use his strength against the ones he loves. In fact, he tries to stay as docile as a lamb. He got real good at it too what with gettin’ used to the children in town bullyin’ him.”

You take a sip of lemonade and purse your lips at the sour taste, Luda Mae see’s your reaction and quickly looks concerned,

“Oh! I’m so sorry hun, I should have asked how you like your lemonade first. Let me water it down for you and add some sugar!” she reaches for your glass but you put your hand up and shake your head while giggling,

“I like it sour, I was just surprised by the intensity of the lemon is all. It’s good, thank you.”

She relaxes her stance and leans back on the counter taking a long sip from her glass. You drink again and savor the tart flavor, you pull out a seat from the small table and Luda Mae joins you.

“So, is that why Tommy became so primitive after he got rid of Dover?” you wanted to start digging into their past to better understand the man you intended to marry.

Luda Mae stares at her drink with a worried look on her face, you lean in to press the question,

“It’s just that… I… well, I know what happened here with you all back then, and I know it was a complex issue and things were becoming desperate so, I don’t want to-well what I mean to ask is… I…”

You suddenly felt very ill-equipped to handle such a deeply unsettling topic, but you burned with intrigue to learn more about the situation. -If I can’t get past their crimes then maybe I shouldn’t be a part of this family- you were now arguing in your head about the morality of their actions and how you looked past it for so long.

Luda Mae hangs her head and shakes it from side to side, she looks up at you with tears forming in her eyes and starts fiddling with a handkerchief she pulled from her pocket.

“I know you want to know more about our despicable past, but I just can’t bring myself to speak on it dear I’m so very sorry.” She quietly whimpered and turned her face away from you to hide her anguish. You didn’t intend to hurt her by asking, you place your hand on her knee,

“I really didn’t mean to upset you Mae, I think I just really need to know what I am getting myself into with marrying your son. I won’t ask you about it again, I’m sorry.”

She looked back at you and pushed out a crooked, strained smile as tears ran down her cheek. Seeing her so upset broke your heart and made you feel guilty for asking the question. -If she is so broken about the past then maybe I have my answer on where she stands with their heinous actions- you think to yourself about how you are basically stuck with them regardless, since you were complicit in the murder of Dover and vowed to keep quiet about it. -maybe I should just let sleeping dogs lie- You stand up and begin to leave the room until you hear Luda Mae say something you couldn’t hear properly, you turn back and ask what she said,

“If you need to find out about our past, I reckon Thomas might just be the best person to ask. Charlie is… well, I love my brother like the lord asks of us, but he’s got an evil deep in him that broke out his body back then. It must have been ‘cus of the starvation, he’s different now mind you, but he still has that darkness lingering in his soul.” She let out a wavering breath and drank more from her lemonade.

You thank her and leave her alone to allow her some recovery. You waited in your room until the sun began to sink in the sky, you could hear Charlie and Tommy putting away the harvest vehicles and closing up the main barn doors. You get up and leave toward the meadow where the cows were wandering and see Luda Mae waiting at the meadow gate, she sees you coming up and waves you over.

“Alright hun, let’s get these heifers in the barn for bed.” Her voice had a sad tone to it, and you gently grabbed her forearm to turn her to face you,

“I’m sorry for upsetting you earlier, you know I care about you. I stupidly asked something personal and should have been more mindful with my words and I hope you can forgive that fumbling.” You tilt your head to the side waiting for her response. She gives you an earnest smile and places her soft, warm hand on your cheek,

“Oh hun, don’t be apologizing for wantin’ to know more. I know it’s weighin’ on your mind and you have every right to find out about your new family, it’s only fair you get all the information you ask for.” She removes her hand from your cheek and you drop her forearm from your hand,

“It’s a painful thing to remember for me, I regret everything that happened and there ain’t no good excuse for what we did but, I’m sorry, I just can’t speak about it. You understand hm?” she looks at you and waits for your response,

You smile and nod, “I understand. Are we good?” you ask.

“Of course we are dear, you just get your questions to Tommy, but know that there’s a chance he may not be so open about it.”

She places her hand on your shoulder as you both walk towards the cows who are already trotting towards the open gate.

You head towards the far end of the meadow to call out to the other cows who straggled behind, they slowly make their way to the gate and you follow behind them at a safe distance. Luda Mae gives you a proud smile as the last cow exited the meadow,

“You learn quick dear, I love a smart woman.”

You felt quite proud yourself with how quickly you took to the caretaking of the animals; farms are hard work even on small ones like the Hewitts have, but you felt a sense of self-worth every time you completed a task, the work gave you a new meaning to living and felt therapeutic.

When you and Luda Mae closed up the barn and got back inside the house, you immediately went to your room to shower off all the dirt of the day. You collected some toiletries that you had left at the house from whenever you slept over, and grabbed some spare clothes but when you went to open the door to the bathroom, you saw it was locked. Someone was already showering in there, you went around to the parlor to wait for whoever it was when Luda Mae stopped in the doorway holding towels,

“Charlie’s in there dear, take a towel and go to the basement shower, Tommy doesn’t take as long as Charlie to clean up and you’ll be guaranteed hot water after he’s done, unlike some people” she nods in the direction of Charlie and rolls her eyes, you laugh and take a towel before heading to the basement floor.

The basement was dark, the lights were even more dim than usual and you had trouble seeing. You carefully lowered your foot before each step, testing the length and height to be sure, until you reached the bottom where your eyes adjusted to the dark. You look up and see a few of the wall lights were burnt out, you look to the end of the hall and see the red glow of Tommy’s room light casting a menacing look on the already creepy basement.

You turn into the bathroom and switch on the lights, the fluorescent bulb flickers before it wakes and reveals the bathroom to be littered with wet towels next to dirty laundry on the floor. -Well I guess it makes sense that he might be a little messy, being such a mommas boy- you smirk from the thought and turn on the bathtub tap, you clean your body off and don’t plug the drain so the tub doesn’t fill up with dirty water. You rub the soap over your body and turn to check if you locked the door, it was open slightly ajar and you had a salacious thought cross your mind -I wonder if Tommy would hide and watch me bathe if I left it open- You blush to yourself and rinse off the suds.

You liked the idea of Tommy getting hot under the collar from simply seeing you with no clothes on, but he was not in the doorway. He was extra careful to make sure he would never see you naked without you knowing, he told you how Luda Mae always taught him to be respectful of women, especially when he liked them, and he was still embarrassed by the first time you caught him.

You got out of the tub and felt relaxed from the wash, you dried off and began to change into fresh clothes until you noticed you forgot a shirt -For fucks sake, of course I forget a shirt- You didn’t want to walk upstairs with no shirt on in front of Charlie, and you didn’t want to put your old shirt on since it was dirty with sweat and now damp from water splashing onto it from the tub. You stand in silence trying to figure out how to possibly sneak into your room from the basement. -Wait! I can just go get a shirt from Tommy!-

You step out of the bathroom with your flip flops on, holding a towel to your chest to cover yourself. You stop when you get to his door and bite your lip thinking of the first time you saw him tower over you with a red rim of light lining his intimidating silhouette. You shake your head to snap out of it and knock on the door,

“Tommy? It’s Y/N*. I need to borrow a shirt. Can I come in?” you wait for a response.

You hear some shuffling and then the door opens. You see Tommy staring down at you with a confused look, his face hidden by the leather mask, he has a tight black t-shirt on and those loose grey sweats you like. He moves to the side and lets you pass, he looks over your half naked body as you get by and hums to himself like he was trying to figure out a puzzle,

“Can I borrow a shirt or what?” you ask playfully.

He closes the door behind him and leans back on it, looking you up and down with his arms crossed, letting out a satisfied huff of air through his nose. You bite your lip and blush, knowing the sight of you is causing him torment,

“You going to keep me locked in here and stare at me all night?” you ask with a coy tone.

“That ain’t a bad idea.” He jokes.

You smile at him and hold your towel a little looser, he walks over to a small closet and grabs a tank top, keeping his eyes on you the whole time.

He says, “I should be givin’ you some privacy but, y’ain’t easy t’look away from.”

You let out a laugh and blush from the pleasing words,

“I guess it doesn’t make sense to be modest in front of you since you have already seen all of me by now”

He hands you a nice-looking maroon tank top and crosses his arms again after you grab it, you could tell he had a smug look on his face from under his mask,

“You are still wearing the mask?” you ask

He tilts his head, retaining his expression, “Some habits ain’t easy t’break.” His tone was flirtatious and only made you more aroused than you already were.

You turn around and drop the towel,

“Yer killin’ me, y’vixen”

You giggle and put the shirt on, it was grossly oversized on you and felt more like a long dress. You tie it up at the waist to accommodate the size difference but the arm holes were so big your breasts could be exposed out the side at any moment. You turn back around and ask,

“Well? How does it look?”

Tommy gives a deep chuckle,

“I think y’make it sexier ‘n I e’er could.” He gives you a wink that sends a pleasing tingle down to your underside.

He stood there towering over you, it felt impossible to get used to how tall he was compared to you and it was enough to make you feral with lust sometimes. You walked up to him and gently trailed your hand up his thigh, you could see there was already a certain body part beginning to slowly swell.

“Are you trying to have restraint tonight?” you whisper

Tommy uncrosses his arms and lets out a sigh,

“Y’love tormentin’ me dontcha?”

You give him a sly look, “Wanna punish me then?”

“Can’t get enough o’me huh.” He tilts his head to the side and watches you through half lidded eyes heavy with desire.

You abruptly stop touching him and laugh to yourself, he grunts in confusion,

“What’s goin’ on in that pretty li’l head o’ yours.”

You turn towards the door and start walking, Tommy reaches out and grabs your hand and pulls you back in to face him,

“Where ya runnin’ off to y’little devil?” he says through a laugh.

Your smile fades as you speak, “I just realized how silly I was being when I actually need to talk to you about something serious. I’m scared of how you will respond.”

Tommy sits on his bed and puts his hands together as his arms rested on his thighs,

“Why would y’be scared?” he asks concernedly

You stare at the floor and aimlessly play with the knot you made to tie your shirt,

He asks again, “Baby y’can ask me anythin’… y’know that right? Don’t be scared, I ain’t never gon’ hurt ya.”

You shake your head, “I’m not worried about you hurting me, I’m worried you might get upset and shut me out, or not say anything at all… or both.” You slowly look up at him through your lashes, your brow wrinkled with worry.

“Well hell, now I really need t’know what you gon’ ask.” He stares at you and notices how worried you look, he makes his voice calmer and follows, “I promise I ain’t gon’ do nothin’ like that. Y’wanna come sit next t’me?” he pats the spot to his left, but you shake your head again,

“I think I should stand, just for now.” You say.

Tommy didn’t like the fact that you would think he would get mad at you and ice you out, he worked so hard to be more open and communicative to break his old ways of keeping quiet and to himself. He nodded and sat up straight,

“Alright then, go ‘head n’ talk.”

You purse your lips, you felt anxious at the possibility of a negative reaction so you chose your words carefully,

“I wanted to know the truth, from your mouth directly, about the time in the past none of you want to talk about. I know it’s none of my business, but I figured since we want to get married it is something I should know about.” You felt your core tense up as you finished your question and waited for a response.

Tommy looked away from you and stared at the floor, “Oh…”

You didn’t say a word, and as Tommy was quietly thinking, you could see his brow furrow which made you worry more. He remained in thought for what felt like ages, so you took a step closer,

“Well?” your voice trembled.

Tommy looked up at you and nodded, “Ok, I think yer right, y’should know, it makes sense.” He let out a big sigh and took off his mask and set it on the side table next to his bed, “If I do this, I don’t wanna hide behind no mask.”

You felt some relief at his mature response, but now you had to think of the questions. He gets off the bed and takes your hand in his, bending low to give the top of your palm a kiss, “Come” he says softly.

You walk with him out of his room and in front of the steel doors that he aggressively slammed shut when you first tried to enter a while back. He is stopped at the entrance and sighs,

“I s’pose I oughtta let y’into this room now.”

You watch him slowly open the heavy factory style door with little effort, the room is dark and Tommy guides you inside. A wave of nervous energy fills your stomach causing the hairs on your arm to lift, the room smells like fresh dirt and damp stone. Tommy leaves you and walks off somewhere in the room and asks,

“Y’ready?”

“Y-yes” You respond.

An orange hued light shines down in the room from hanging factory lights that came from a long-gone era. The room is strangely very minimal, you see the floor is old cracked tile with multiple spots for drainage, to your left is a slab table that’s rusted and damaged, next to the table against the wall is a long counter-top area. You look around and see the walls are built up using random stone, and moss has begun to slowly grow between the cracked grout.

You ask, “I thought I saw… hanging hooks when I opened the door the first time?”

Tommy nodded, “Got rid of ‘em n’ cleaned this here room out a while back.”

“How come?”

He walked around and looked up at the ceiling, “When y’said y’wanted t’be with me forever… I figured I better get rid o’ the last bits o’ evil left so y’feel safe.”

You hug yourself with your arms, you were glad he wasn’t hiding anything but you needed the full truth from him, even if it makes you sick, “Ok then, tell me what you all did during those hard times before Tilly.”

Tommy leaned against the wall in front of you and crossed his arms, “Things got real bad out here. The town got poor n’ the people all up n’ left. We was the last few folks who stayed, couldn’t afford t’leave. When the food ran out, things started goin’ south.”

He looked down at the floor, “Y’ever been so hungry ‘at y’start seein’ things?”

You shake your head, your upbringing was not great and many nights you ate sleep for dinner but you never got so starved that you would hallucinate.

He continues, “Well, when y’get that hungry, y’become somethin’ else, like you was losin’ yer humanity. Desperate.” He lets out a sigh, “Momma tried her best t’find anythin’ to eat, she picked the town clean until nothin’ was left not even wild animals to hunt, was like god turned on us or somethin’. It got so bad we was eatin’ grass n’ it made us sick.” He paused and you looked at him and lowered your arms,

“Why didn’t you guys travel to the next town?” you inquire

He shakes his head, “Back then there wasn’t no town for a days drive n’ we had no gas for the one truck we kept.”

“Oh” you mumble

He continues, “One day, uncle Charlie came home with an ice bucket full o’ meat, looked like ham hocks or somethin’, was all skinned n’ fresh. Momma asked him where he got it from, n’ what it was. Charlie told us he stole it from a passerby n’ scared ‘em off. Momma didn’t wanna ask more, she was dyin’ from starvation, she trusted him.” Tommy looked angry, “She trusted him, n’ so did I!” He turned to face the wall and slammed his fist on it, “Got-dammit!” you could see his face grimace with emotional pain. You walk up to him and rub his back, he lets out a few long breaths and turns to you and slinks down to the floor putting his head in his hands.

“I’m ok, I’m ok” he says in an assured tone.

He drops his hands and looks up at you, his blue eyes now shimmering with the promise of tears. You could begin to see what he may have looked like as a little boy, trembling and lonely from the bullying he went through. The sight of him like that tugged at your heart and made it ache,

“It’s ok if you need to stop. I don’t want you to push yourself.”

He waved his hand and sat forward with his legs raised up and his arms resting on his knees,

“No I’m gon’ get through it, I need to.” He continues, “We ate that meat, was the best meal we had in a long time, we stored the rest so it’d last us. Felt like we were alive again, don’t know how else to s’plain it.” Tommy paused for a minute, staring off into nothing, then continued, “We found out the truth a few days later when the last pieces were ate up. Momma pushed uncle Charlie too far with questions, he cracked and told us it was people.” Tommy muttered under his breath and spoke more, “Momma lost her mind n’ I felt sick as a dog. I started wretchin’ but I was so starved ‘at nothin’ came out, big guy like me gets hungry faster then smaller folk.”

“It must have been hell for you.” You felt your stomach drop from the admittance, you follow up with a question, “What made you all keep eating people though? Why not just leave in search of a new home?”

He huffs, “This family was livin’ on this land fer decades, there was too much pride. I woulda up n’ left but I didn’t wanna leave momma out here alone t’die.”

You sit on the ground next to him and ask, “What made Charlie kill a person?”

Tommy rubbed the back of his head as it hung between his arms, “He said some guy rolled up askin’ fer gas, uncle Charlie said we ain’t got none and asked if the guy had any food on him. He told us the guy pulled out a gun on uncle Charlie n’ he had to do it. He told us the blood comin’ out the mans cuts made him crazy, he only saw meat and not a man, so he did what he did.”

You felt sick, the scenario was dire and it all made sense but it was hard to hear, it didn’t seem like a real thing that could happen. Tommy looked at you with the saddest eyes you had ever seen, he looked defeated,

You hesitantly ask the last question that came to mind, “How did you guys…what made you keep doing it?”

Tommy kept his eye contact with you and spoke quietly, “When y’eat a person, somethin’ inside you changes n’ makes you different then y’ever were before. Makes y’do things you ain’t never thought you’d be capable of… we started cravin’ it somethin’ fierce, like wild animals.” He shakes his head slowly, “The next town was bein’ built, the one y’visited a few months back.”

You nod, remembering the old man who warned you about Fuller.

Tommy continued, “More n’ more people would pass through, we stole gas, filled up the station, we stole cars n’ y’see ‘em near the forest out back, we took whatever people showed up n’ no lawman seemed to bat an eye, never saw one come ‘round, like we was forgotten. We shoulda just died n’ stayed human.” Tommy crossed his arms and tilted his head to the ceiling with closed eyes.

He keeps going, “We did it for a long while ‘til Tilly came n’ saved us all, delivered us from evil as momma likes sayin’. And that’s all of it, that’s what we did n’ why.”

You let out a long sigh, this was a lot of information to take in and it still didn’t feel real. You felt a few questions come up, and you asked,

“Were you the one to kill any of the people you ate?”

Tommy sighed, “Yes”

“How many?” you were very firm in your tone.

Tommy slunk, “Too many”

You nod and he adds, “I wasn’t there in my mind, it left my body when I did it n’ I cant remember a lot of it no more. It’s like when y’saw me after Dover, I went out my head n’ only came back when I heard y’call out fer me.”

You remembered that time, how he looked like another creature, how he behaved like an animal, you saw him dissociate from his reality. You ask,

“Did you do all the killing?”

He shook his head, “Momma saw how uncle Charlie was usin’ me fer easy kills, she whooped him hard, she whooped him so bad he was bleedin’ was almost dead. I never saw her so mad in my life. After that beatin’ uncle Charlie told me I ain’t gotta kill no one s’long as I butcher the meat, he said I better do it ‘cus I know how it was done on them cows n’ pigs all proper… Butcherin’ pigs n’ cows is already somethin’ awful… but butcherin’ people.” Tommy trailed off and had the color drain from his face. He looked at you and asked softly “I hope you ain’t got no more questions, I think I had about all I can handle. I’m sorry.”

You rub his arm, “I think I know enough. Thank you for being honest, I know this was hard.”

Tommy stands up and offers his hand to help you up, you take the help and he pulls you up from the floor. He holds your hands in his and looks into your eyes,

“I need you to know, I ain’t that person no more, s’far as the past goes, it was someone else who ain’t never comin’ back. Never ever.”

You conjure up a weak smile, you nod and say “I think I need to be alone to process this. I’m going to go home and get some rest. I’ll come back tomorrow and tell you what I think.” Tommy nodded and walked you out of the room after shutting the light, he watched you go up the stairs and he suddenly felt sick with anxiety. All he could think was that this would be the last time he saw you, he felt it coming. After all, who could love a monster like him?

#what ya writin #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x y/n #slasher community #thomas hewitt x afab reader #leatherface 2006 #texas chainsaw massacre #my art #the fruit after the flesh #slasher smut #slasher x reader #slasher thirst #slasher fandom #charlie hewitt #sheriff hoyt #hoyt

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anons-has-hlvrai-aus · 3 months ago

Text

The Metamorphosis of Gordon Freeman [Chapter 6]

Asking About Monty Armadillos

Chapter 1 | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary: Gordon just wanted to get some errands done. Unfortunately, the wall had other plans.

Word Count: 6,425

Ao3 Version Link

Notes: This chapter was originally going to be about Bubby’s job at Burger King, but I decided that Gordon needs to spend this chapter and part of the next one dedicated to more slice of life stuff. Or at least the closest thing to slice of life that’s possible with these characters. That’s partially why this chapter took so long to release, it was meant to go in a completely different direction.

It had been a couple weeks since Benrey had moved in. For now, life was pretty much the same as it had been for Gordon, except now he had to deal with somebody eating his Honey Nut Cheerios straight out of the box like a fucking animal, and he now had to dedicate about thirty minutes of every evening to purposefully utilizing his Sweet Voice. He was at a point where he could easily toggle the ability on and off without fail, and he hadn’t had any particularly extreme emotions recently that would cause him to spew it out involuntarily. He was incredibly thankful with how easily it came to him, because he did have a life outside of the Science Team, and he couldn’t afford to lose it on account of some bullshit that was absolutely Benrey’s fault.

Always Benrey…

He supposed the man’s inclusion in the household did have some benefits other than having a ‘teacher’ near him at all times.

It encouraged him to play more video games he hadn’t experienced before, for one. As somebody that had familiarized himself solely with computer games in the last four years, Benrey’s surprisingly wide PlayStation collection was admirable, but his weird fascination with 2000’s Crash Bandicoot games, specifically Mind Over Mutant, was a tad concerning…it wasn’t a massive game changer, though. As long as Benrey didn’t start making proud exclamations that he was going to name his firstborn child after the funny marsupial, it was probably fine…

Another benefit, Gordon considered, was that Benrey was generally helpful around the house, offering to do his share of the chores not even a day after their first lesson, and this seemed to tie in well with Benrey’s technical skills with the various appliances in Gordon’s possession.

Benrey was immensely competent with technology in a way that nobody else in the Science Team could possibly rival. Tommy was up there in terms of technical literacy, able to explain in simple terms to Gordon how to restart his router when the internet had crapped out, or how to fix his computer when he accidentally flipped the screen upside-down that one time, but Benrey seemingly knew every appliance and piece of technology in the house from the inside-out. He’d even figured out how to get discs for his older games to read on the PS4. It wasn’t supposed to do that, but Benrey had found a way, like with the Internet Wad.

He shouldn’t have been surprised at this point that Benrey was continuing to challenge any and all previously conceived notions Gordon had about him. Hell, Benrey had literally walked up and asked to borrow the manuals for all the home devices within a few days of moving in; Gordon had obliged to get the man off his back, but he did, in fact, see him reading those manuals throughout that following day. Of course, this only led Gordon to wonder why Benrey seemed to arbitrarily forget things they had talked about, even if it happened minutes before.

Benrey wasn’t dumb, that much had always been obvious, but there was definitely something holding him back. Maybe he was scared of large responsibilities, so he played dumb to avoid them…no, that was giving Benrey too much credit. He was smart, but all his decisions were notably short-sighted and only focused on his current wants and needs. So, yeah, he had no idea what was going on there.

An operatic tone pulled Gordon out of his thoughts.

“Yooooo.”

“Hey Benrey.”

The other man pried his attention away from the box of Honey Nut Cheerios being held close to his chest. “…Nice shirt.”

Gordon looked down…and gave an awkward thanks.

“Where’d you get that?” Benrey probed.

According to a conversation Gordon had with one of his neighbors some time ago, there was a long-running joke involving novelty shirts that was entirely localized in the Anomalous Materials department and had resulted in said department having the means to create them whenever they wanted, which certainly explained how he had ended up with so many in the first place. Outside of a few notable exceptions, almost every single novelty shirt Gordon possessed came from his old apartment in Black Mesa and followed the criteria of either being related to his pre-game backstory, or was a joke shirt he had (apparently) created in his free time; unfortunately, neither of these things existed in his current memory. The fact that all of these shirts came from the same printing company, and that the few remaining members of the original Anomalous Materials crew could be counted on one hand and were incredibly spread out geographically, meant Gordon would have to take the daunting task of determining which shirts were legitimate creations by his workplace and which ones were created by himself in a previous life, or at least inadvertently by The Player, into his own hands.

Gordon wasn’t sure which category ‘I got my top surgery done at Black Mesa’ fell into, and honestly he didn’t care enough anymore to find out.

He responded to Benrey’s question with a shrug and a very neutral “I don’t know,” which seemed to appease the non-human enough to continue eating breakfast on the couch like a heathen.

“Is there another reason you called me over, or did you just wanna see my pajamas?”

The lingering silence, occasionally broken by audible crunching and sniffling, could drive somebody crazy. Gordon had learned that rushing Benrey didn’t help any, so he just walked away to make his own breakfast (sadly not Honey Nut Cheerios, because a certain somebody was hogging them). If his new housemate had an answer for his question, he would get it out-

“Bubby’s on his way.”

“What?”

-right now, apparently.

Benrey sniffled again before responding. “Bubby’s on his way. Gonna be here soon.”

“How do you know that?”

“Smell ‘em.”

“You can…smell him coming? While it’s raining like hell outside?”

“Yeah.”

Great, wonderful. Write that up as another horrible power to look forward to. “Why is Bubby coming to visit?”

Benrey smiled, a mischievous green color escaping from his lips. “He’s got a uhhh, feet pics.”

“He does NOT!!!!!!”

Gordon blew his own Sweet Voice back at his tormentor, who simply laughed. ‘Blue means stop it, you!’

Okay, so maybe saying he didn’t have any extreme emotions was a bit of an exaggeration, but so far these slip-ups were only happening at home and almost entirely triggered by something Benrey said or did.

It’s fine. He’s fine.

The sudden rapping and ringing of the doorbell that occurred immediately after their spat, thankfully, did not come as a surprise.

Gordon had the Science Team’s usual hints of arrival memorized: Tommy had a slow and calculated knock, Darnold rang the doorbell twice in succession, Coomer rang the bell then knocked, and the ever so extra Bubby would perform five knocks and a ring of the bell.

The seamless performance of ‘Shave and Haircut’ more than confirmed the claim of Bubby’s arrival. Again, not like he should have been surprised anymore. Benrey’s behaviors since he moved in made it clear he made a lot of shit up, but so far he never lied about how his powers worked; although he did get oddly quiet whenever he was asked about how many powers he had.

Weird but…whatever.

Gordon got up from his spot in the kitchen and opened the door for Bubby.

“I got the job at Burger King, Gordon!”

“What?”

“I got th-” He paused. “Where the hell did you get a shirt like that from?”

Normally, Gordon wouldn’t have advertised any part of his absurd shirt collection to other people, other than Benrey who he had correctly assumed on day one wouldn’t have cared, but he wasn’t really in a position to keep Bubby waiting. It was, after all, wet as fuck outside. Explaining the whole backstory behind the shirt would be too much, so he simply replied “I don’t remember.”

“Well uh, let me know if you do…I want to get one for Harold. He’d find it hilarious. Anyways, I got the job at Burger King, Gordon!”

“Oh shit, congratulations.”

“No need to boost my ego, I knew it would be easy!” Bubby beamed with arrogance. “I start in the next week or two, you should come say hi once I get my hours!”

“I don’t see why not. We’ve celebrated much smaller occasions.” Gordon looked over his shoulders, “How about you, Benrey?”

“Oh fuck YEAH bro!” Benrey’s disgustingly loud affirmation peaked like a cheap microphone. He slipped into a valley girl accent, making the experience significantly worse for everybody involved as he began chanting “Road Trip! Road Trip!” ad nauseam.

Gordon responded with another line of blue at Benrey, much less aggressive than his earlier stream. The message was conveyed, but he wasn’t sure if it actually had the same influence on Benrey that it had on himself or if Benrey was just listening to him out of kindness. He wasn’t exactly willing to try it out on anybody else to find out, either…

“You’re really getting the hang of that!” Said Bubby.

“Thanks.” A warmth peppered itself around Gordon’s cheeks. He still felt awkward about ‘expressing’ himself like this around other people. A little bit of praise did a lot for Gordon’s fragile ego, even if he had no plans to display his powers in front of anybody outside of the Science Team. “So uh, when do you want us to show up once you get your hours?”

Bubby hummed in thought before responding. “If it’s the morning shift? Probably around lunch. It’ll be the best possible time to show off my sick customer service skills.”

“You have customer service skills?”

“Well, not yet I don’t!” He half-chuckled, “But I imagine the other workers will have me trained up real quick! See you then!”

“See ya, man!”

Both men exchanged waves before Bubby slammed the door behind himself, leaving Gordon to look over his nasty self. It was, like, 1 PM. He desperately needed to put on some normal clothes.

“I’m gonna take a shower.” Gordon loudly announced. “Please don’t do anything crazy while I’m in there.”

He didn’t hear Benrey’s response, but he did catch a glimpse of him returning the cereal box to its rightful place before clipping back into the attic, which he had officially declared his place of residence. Personally, Gordon would have preferred the nice and comfy guest bedroom with a massive window to let sunlight inside, but he didn’t particularly care one way or another if Benrey rejected the objectively better living space.

If the man wanted to sleep like an opossum, then so be it; more luxury for Gordon. Although, he did secretly wish Benrey would move his sleeping quarters for the sake of his legs. Climbing the ladder to the attic kinda sucked ass.

Other than that, there were no issues…at least, not any that needed worrying about at the present time. It was the weekend, after all, which meant he had two full days to attend to whatever needed doing at a leisurely pace, not that he was pressed for time in any way. He was still unemployed after all, it was the illusion of leisure that really mattered here.

So Gordon took his sweet time in the shower, or at least he tried to. For a moment he remembered that it was raining outside and he was reminded that it was possible to get electrocuted in the shower during a thunderstorm. But, it wasn’t thundering right now so…maybe it was-?

There was a rumble outside.

Hastily, he scrubbed the remaining soap suds from his hair, ran some conditioner through for good measure, and hopped out from the awkward tub. It was annoying to maneuver over the knee-high wall of porcelain, but it was so much easier to clean compared to the sliding glass doors that had been there when he moved in, a necessary evil. Plus, you just couldn’t get the same privacy from a frosted window that a shower curtain could just as easily provide for much cheaper.

He threw on a bathrobe, a habit he had to start picking up to avoid any uncomfortable encounters with his new housemate in the hallway since the master bathroom was sadly not connected to his bedroom, and hurried across the hall to complete his routine.

There was a knock at his bedroom door while he finished combing his hair. “Goin’.”

“Going? Going where?”

“Forzen’s.”

Gordon silently let Benrey be on his way. The odd man had been hanging out with Forzen a lot since he showed up, which checked out since they were apparently best friends again. Or…maybe they never stopped being best friends from Benrey’s point of view? He wasn’t sure, and it didn’t really matter anyways.

What did matter right now was getting some of his tasks done, like grocery shopping and stopping by the movie rental shop. He decided to get the latter done first, the grocery place was bound to be crowded right now. It wasn’t that he doubted his ability to be seen in a crowded public space without a Sweet Voice outburst that wasn’t prompted by the presence of Benrey, he could do that just fine, he just didn’t like crowded spaces.

He swiftly grabbed the copy of All Dogs Go to Heaven 2 (which Gordon could now definitively say he did NOT die at the end of, much to Benrey’s continued insistence) and its predecessor from the TV stand and made way to his car.

‘Who DID like crowded spaces?’ Gordon wondered. He certainly couldn’t name anybody off the top of his head. It was a question he would consider pondering later.

In around one hour he had gone to the rental store, carried a pretty casual conversation with the lady at the counter, and exchanged his duology of animated films about dogs and the consequences of toying with life and death for the original trilogy Jurassic Park, a completely unrelated series of movies also about the consequences of toying with life and death. And he’d gone through the entire scenario without even a single bubble of Sweet Voice, once again proving to himself that he was fully capable of integrating himself into human society without breaking the veil of normalcy. He could only hope that Benrey would be able to do the same. If Forzen could do it…

Actually, that was a good point.

Forzen and Benrey were pretty much the same guy aside from Forzen obviously being human, that much Gordon already knew but…shit, man. Maybe this was a good thing.

If he could teach Forzen to fit in, why couldn’t he do the same with Benrey?

Clever Gordon, very clever Gordon. And it would work out perfectly fine in the long run because Benrey was teaching Gordon how to handle his new fucked up alien puberty anyways, why not do Benrey a favor in exchange and help him integrate as well? It was a win for everybody involved.

This was good.

This was SO good!

He was absolutely electrified about this revelation; he’d dare say he was actually looking forward to Benrey getting home so he could share this brilliant plan. It was amazing, HE was amazing, and…and…his house keys were gone.

He didn’t forget them this time, he wasn’t making that mistake again, but there was a hole in the back pocket of this particular pair of jeans that he’d never really paid any mind to, just large enough for his keys to wiggle through. It wasn’t a particularly heavy set of keys: just the house key itself, the key ring attached to it, and a little plastic tag for scanning himself into the local gym. Perhaps a clunkier keychain would have saved him the embarrassment of losing his keys, but it was a bit late for that.

‘Don’t panic, Freeman.’ His inner scientist urged.

…

He wildly checked his car, convincing himself that the distinct lack of stuff on the key chain would have allowed the keys to slide around with the almost minimal amount of friction possible on a carpeted floor mat. And of course, there was some space underneath the seat that could have allowed the keys to slide to the back of the car as well. Alas, there was neither a nook nor cranny that he could scour that yielded his house keys.

Defeat engulfed Gordon like an ocean wave, he had to face the possibility that his keys were, at worst, being toted about by whatever burglar found them on the pavement outside of Aftermath Plaza; best case scenario was that they were just in another pocket…

He checked, just in case…Nope.

‘Silver lining: they may be somewhere on the floor of the rental store, and you just have to drive back for them.’ Another fair point from his inner scientist.

He leaned against a wall near the front door while he called the store. He hated the rain, it had stopped reminding him of being shot a long time ago and now just felt uncomfortable, but he was too stubborn to return to his car until he was absolutely certain that he actually needed to go back in. The overhang of the roof did a fine enough job of keeping him and the DVDs dry as it was, anyways. Perfectly justifiable.

The phone hummed, once, twice, three times. If he lingered on the noise for too long, he felt shivers from a now-ancient memory. It paired itself to pins and needles across his whole body and his mind pulling itself like taffy to see beyond a veil that he was lightyears from being able to physically reach; a voice that both was and wasn't his own spoke behind it. So thick was the veil, the voice was not even a whisper when it came through, and his own voice, when he was held together enough to speak, was even quieter by comparison. Their voices made no sound, their presence was felt and to each other was deafening. An argument in two separate realities, both sides rumbling in his skull.

His own voice manifested from the vibrations.

He leaned his focus into the voice…

“This is FYE at Poastgame, New Mexico. Judith speaking.”

“Hi Judith!” He answered way too cheerfully. Reality continued as it normally did.

Gordon explained his predicament to the woman on the other end, getting quiet hums whose meanings he didn’t quite grasp; he waited for a response once done.

The silence on the other end lasted for just a while longer before Judith spoke again. “I’m afraid I don’t see any keys around here, sir. I’m sorry.”

Great. He thanked Judith for her help regardless and followed through with the pleasantries of wishing her a good day, waiting a bit too long for her to hang up first before he stashed his phone away.

“Fuck my life.” He groaned.

He had Benrey’s number. If the man could sniff out Bubby, maybe he could sniff out the house keys as well, it was just the matter of…messaging Benrey for help that made him fucking livid. He didn’t wanna ask somebody for help.

He didn’t wanna ask Benrey for help, but it would have to be done eventually.

He gently thumped his head against the wall rhythmically, swearing under his breath with each successive impact.

This continued for about a minute. It likely would have continued for much longer if his head hadn’t decided to abruptly disobey every law of physics and pass through the wall like a knife cutting through silk. A tickling sandpapery feeling enveloped a sliver of his face, moving as his head moved. He craned his neck so that he could slip more of his head through the wall. When his eyes went into the wall, the white texture of its plaster glitched with weird black lines that quickly flickered in and out of his vision. This visual error vanished as soon as his eyes were entirely through the wall, whereupon he could now see the (upside-down because of how far back his neck was craned) interior of his house.

Noclipping.

This was noclipping.

Gordon had noclipped his head into a fucking wall.

And he was still noclipping his head into a fucking wall. He couldn’t help it, he was simply too baffled to move further.

It was like the universe was teasing him by putting him into the exact scenario where he would need to learn how to clip himself back into his own house.

He was not partial to the idea, but it was better than the alternative of…asking Benrey for help, he supposed. He didn’t care if the man was supposed to be his teacher, he should be allowed to figure at least some of this shit out on his own. Just like how Benrey had already sorta been independently figuring out how to act human beforehand. Something-something ‘independent learning’ or whatever.

This was good though, admittedly. He wouldn’t have to wait in the rain or in his car for Benrey to show up. The thought that he’d have to grab his spare house key from the bedroom and make a copy of it so he still had at least one spare key wasn’t fun, but he supposed it would be a small price to pay for a chance to figure some shit out on his own for once.

He slowly moved further into the wall, trying first to get the Jurassic Park rentals into a dry place; his empty hand passed through just fine, the one holding the DVDs, though, required a bit of force and him mentally begging for them to follow his will. He was able to place them on a side drawer so he could put the rest of his focus into just clipping himself through the wall.

He started by reorienting himself so he could see his house rightside-up again. His back was not happy with the hunched over posture he was in, but it was fine. He would be on the other side of the wall very soon.

He pulled one arm the rest of the way, then his shoulder, then the other arm. His whole chest was inside the house now.

His legs and feet refused to go through, he’d had to try pulling himself in like a cartoon gopher. Getting his hands to cooperate was hard too, they kept wanting to clip again when he really just…needed them to stay solid so he had leverage. Was leverage the right word? He wasn’t sure.

Eventually his hands decided to play nice and treat the wall like a solid object again. Good.

He pushed his arms some to pull himself inside, the rest of his chest coming through just fine…so far so good, and then part of his stomach. The awkward position of his clipping meant he had to lift his legs some to get himself further inside, but it all was working fine.

All he had to do now was get his legs, and hope he didn’t get stuck halfway. That would’ve sucked.

He dragged himself in now, his upper body sulking onto the floor, further inside and…of course, of course he got stuck. The sandpaper feeling was a ring of sensation around where the belly button was.

He’s fucking jinxed himself. No amount of clawing or kicking got him any further into or out of the house, and his hands were still treating the wall like a wall again so he couldn’t pass them through to grab the phone from his pocket. He was a spitting image of that coyote character chasing the bird, stuck in a problem of his own creation.

It’s fine.

Benrey would be back soon, hopefully. He just had to wait.

It was later now, he supposed…might as well ponder that question about people who like crowds while he waited…and maybe reconsider getting a garage for the car while he’s at it.

Benrey was beholden to a pretty humorous sight: Feetman half-clipped into a wall near front door, the bottom half of his sweatpants fucking soaked from the rain, and his phone, on the wrong side of the house, just slightly covered in mud after seemingly falling out of his pants pocket. The whole situation reminded him of something but…he wasn’t sure what.

He peeked his head through the door, no key required. “Yo!”

“The hell were you doing at Forzen’s?!” Damn, not even a hello? “I was starting to worry it would be dark out by the time you got back.”

“Catching up on all the memes I missed, bro.” Was he going to use any of those memes? No, not really. He didn’t roll that way, but he did like being in-the-know when it came to humor.

He phased the rest of the way through without issue, he was pretty sure Gordon was displaying jealousy on his face for a couple seconds before responding. “Of course you were. Can you uh, help me out? I’m uh, Gordon’s…Gordon’s kinda stuck.”

“Like a square peg?”

“Yeah, sure, like a square peg.”

“Yeah.” Benrey echoed Gordon’s feelings. Being stuck wasn’t fun, he remembered that much from when he was still fresh and new. This remembering was completely different from the other thing he was currently trying to remember on purpose, but he did remember that fact.

He hovered around Gordon from multiple angles, inside and outside of the house, carefully assessing the degree of stuckness so he could help with utmost care. He spotted the phone again in the ground while outside and scooped it up, wiping off the mud and the rainwater so it looked clean.

“Here’s your phone sir. One phone, extra wet. No fries.” He said, handing the device off to its owner.

“What do you have against me and French fries???”

“Kettle chips are better.” He said. The appeal for the humble french fry was entirely lost on Benrey, the insides were simply too soft for his liking.

“You know what?” Gordon said, “I’m not gonna argue with you about that.”

Holy shit for real?

“I’m totally with you about that, man. Kettle chips are awesome.”

If Benrey wasn’t determined to become Gordon’s best friend before, he 300% was now. Do you have any idea how much 300% is?? That’s like, a LOT!

“Tommy…” Benrey had to pause so he could process how excited he was to find something he and Gordon had in common. Potato products are a big deal, after all. “…Tommy makes good kettle chips.”

“Oh fuck yeah. First time I actually tried Kettle chips was when Tommy made them for my birthd-can we please focus?” Gordon’s face went all serious as he cut himself off.

“Yeah man no problem.”

“Cool.”

Wait. “Wait!!!”

“What?”

Dude. Oh god. “Oh my god dude.”

“What??”

“Bro I…I missed Tommy’s birthday! I’ve missed like, four birthdays! I gotta make it up to him, man.”

“Can we PLEASE fucking concentrate on what’s going on right now instead of some shit that’s already happened?”

“Wow, okay.” Benrey huffed, trying to convey a playful tone. “What a way to talk to the guy getting your ass un-wet from the rain.”

“Please do not use those words in that exact order ever again.”

He laughed and did another lookover of the situation, starting from the outside. There was a faint chuckle from the interior. What a wonderful laugh. That was a laugh that needed to be put in the laughter hall of fame with Tommy’s laugh, and his own…

Yeah. Gordon was suuuuuper stuck no matter how he framed it. He could drag him out himself easily…or he could make this into a Benrey Teacher Moment.

He dramatically flung himself onto the floor in front of Gordon, posing brilliantly. “So uh…you got stuck in a wall, did’ja?”

“Are you fucking flirting with me?” He waited for an answer before sighing. “…Yes. I did get stuck in a wall, thank you for noticing. Are you gonna help me out?”

“Not yet, not yet, this is, uh…impromptu lesson.”

“Right now?”

“Right now.” Benrey nodded. “You gotta learn to get your settings menu under control. You can do shit by thinking about it, if you think too hard about something, it’s gonna happen, and then you’re gonna get in situations like this all the time. Yeah?”

Gordon nodded back at him, slowly. He couldn’t tell if the man’s face was from anger or from thinking very hard about his settings menu.

“Gonna get stuck a lot more often if you don’t figure yourself out. Just like uh……”

“Like what? What are you trying to conjure up with your head?”

“Like uh…” He still couldn’t remember. It had something to do with walls and… “armadillo?”

“…What?”

“Armadillos, man!!” Yeah no, he was totally onto something. If he just explained it enough, he would remember. Or at the very least Gordon would know what he was talking about. He started to kick his legs behind him and play with the ears of his fuzzy hat in excitement, not really focusing on Gordon like he was supposed to.

“What do you mean armadillos? What are you talking about?”

“You know, armadillos! They’ve got the thin curly horns. Monty armadillos. They were in the uh, the floorboards or something, or…actually it was also in the walls, like you are right now…”

“Benrey…”

“…Like they were just living there. And there’s this guy and he’s like ‘Uuuugh. Buuuh. There’s armadillos in my wall in the basement or whateverrrrrr.’ Cause there’s holes in the wall right? Like armadillo holes. So they were getting in and out with the holes…”

“Benrey.”

“…and the reason they were coming in was because they were stealing his wine. Just taking all of it. Don’t know why though, maybe they just like it. So he tries to fill in the holes in the wall and the armadillos are like ‘bro you don’t have any caulk we stole it all’ and he was like ‘okay then what’s this?’ And then bam! He had the caulk with him the WHOLE time!”

“BENREY!”

“Whaaaaaaa-tuh?” Benrey whined. He looked in Gordon’s direction with his arms splayed out in front of him.

“I need you to be quiet so I can focus.”

“You don’t like armadillos bro? Funny deer guys? Live in Africa?”

“First of all, pretty sure that’s antelopes. Second of all…are you thinking of fucking…the Edgar Allen Poe thi-” Gordon let out a pained profanity, punctuated by a particularly loud thud.

“Oh shit you got out!”

He flipped himself over like a pancake to meet eyes with Gordon, who was now clambering himself out of the Ass-Up-Crumpled-Napkin Position he had managed to get into.

“Crongatulation you have uh, paper clips.”

Gordon physically cringed at the mutilated pronunciation of ‘Congratulations’ and shook his head, “No. No way, man, you’re gonna have to explain this shit better…But-!”

Benrey jumped.

“I need to tell you something first, and before that-” Gordon strutted into the hallway. “I need to get into something not soaked with rainwater, I can NOT work like this.”

“Don’t like rain bro?”

The conversation continued at a medium-volume shout between the foyer/living room and Gordon’s bedroom. Yet another thing Benrey didn’t quite get…not the bed part, the open windows. At least this one he understood was because humans didn’t go into immediate sleepytime when drenched in blue light. Lucky.

“I like the CONCEPT of rain and I like how it sounds on the roof at night when I’m going to bed, but I don’t like the feeling of getting rained on. It’s like a shower I didn’t consent to.”

“We gotta fix that.”

“Fix what??”

“That sleeping thing. Shouldn’t have to do it every day. Super inefficient.”

At this time, Gordon had walked back into the living room with a new pair of jeans and had returned his voice to a normal volume. “Are you telling me you don’t need 8 hours of sleep every day?”

“What? No!” Man he WISHED he could stay up for days on end. That would be cool as fuck. “No, I just think it’s dumb that we need to sleep every day. They should make it so you only have to do it once a week…or just make it optional.”

“Who the hell is gonna change how sleep works?”

“Sleepytime gods.”

“I don’t think those are real. Anyways…”

Benrey huffed. Again, to display he wasn’t being serious. He even made an exaggerated pout. “You don’t know that.”

“ANYWAYS!”

He was led into the living room, Gordon picking up a stack of DVDs near the front door and placing them on the tv stand before sitting in his recliner. Benrey debated on whether or not to sit on the floor, but out of courtesy decided to sit in the seat nearest to him instead.

“So, I know I said I wanted you to help me work out the noclipping stuff, but I need to share this with you before I forget it.”

He nodded.

“I have an idea on how we can make this…” he waved his arms around, “situation more beneficial for the both of us. Okay?”

Another nod.

Gordon started with a long-winded explanation on how he had ‘fixed’ Forzen’s social skills.

Bullshit, there’s nothing wrong with Forzen, he’s just Forzen. What happened to him wasn’t even his fault…but then again…did Gordon even know about that? Forzen didn’t like to elaborate on stuff unless he needed to so…shit, maybe Gordon doesn’t know about That Thing, then. He would let this offense slide since he obviously doesn’t know what happened…

Now, Gordon was talking about helping Benrey himself with social skill stuff and…okay, but like…he’s already doing so good at fitting in? At least, Benrey thought he was doing good. He’s not human though so…maybe there’s some stuff he’s doing that isn’t sufficiently human-enough.

Normalcy mattered a lot to Gordon, that’s what Doctor Coomer had said to him a couple days ago. Something was going on with Gordon that was making him paranoid, something that had him convinced that the Science Team as a whole needed to act as close to normal humans as physically possible, especially while in public. It was going to be addressed in that meeting that ended up not working out…but, well, that kinda blew up for reasons somewhat outside of their control. And now Gordon was asking for Benrey to be more like HIM, to tighten up how he acts around other people.

It was…he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He absolutely wanted to fit in, now that he was free from Black Mesa, but what would that entail? What were Gordon’s standards for him fitting in? Was it worth it?

…

It…it had to be worth it. It just had to be. Benrey had spent a lot of time alone, figuring things out on his own before Black Mesa captured him. He liked attention, even bad attention, but he didn’t like the consequences of the bad attention. This, though? This felt like good attention, being able to have Gordon’s approval felt like good attention.

This was worth it, he decided.

If it meant they could become friends one day, then jumping over however many hoops Gordon wanted was more than worth it. Proving he was worthy of Gordon’s friendship was worth it. It wasn’t like this was being done without compensation, he was already helping Gordon with his own shit. By that logic, it only seemed fair that Gordon do something for him in return, besides letting him stay at the house.

So…he smiled back at Gordon, to the best of his ability, and agreed.

“Yes! This is great!” Gordon laughed, what a gorgeous laugh it was. “This is perfect, even!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, dude!”

Benrey laughed too. This was worth it. It was fine. This would all turn out fine.

“God…that reminds me.”

Benrey tilted his head. Did Gordon forget something too? He wouldn’t blame him if he did.

“I was gonna go to the grocery store today but, I’m honestly too people’d out to physically go anywhere now. And I’d rather get the noclipping figured out before I leave the house. Do you wanna like…come with me tomorrow?”

“For real?” If Benrey had a tail, it would be wagging with excitement.

“Yeah just…so that I don’t have to worry about getting stuck again. I actually can’t afford to NOT go to the store tomorrow so the help is appreciated. And it-it’ll be good practice for you! I’ll even let you buy, like…a fun snack or something for the trouble.”

“Road trip?”

“No.”

“Road trip?!”

“It is NOT-”

“ROAD TRIIIIIP!”

“BENREY!!!” Gordon got up from his seat, phone in one hand while the other was cupped around his mouth. “I need to-I NEED TO CALL ACE HARDWARE! ABOUT COPYING MY HOUSE KEY! AND THE GYM ABOUT MY MISSING MEMBERSHIP TAG THING!”

“ROAD TRIIIIIIP!”

“I’LL BE OUTSIDE!”

Road trip! Road trip!!!! Fuck yeah!!!!!!!!

Totally worth it!

Gordon’s shoulders slowly relaxed, his relief nearly palpable. “Thank you, I appreciate the understanding.”

“Of course, sir. There’ll be a $15 fee for the replacement tag, but you should be fine as long as you can provide the phone number your account is under.”

“Awesome, thank you again. Have a good night.”

“You too, sir.”

Click!

Given how long he’d been stuck in the wall for, he was not too surprised that pretty much everywhere was nearing closing time, not that it mattered since he had no plans to leave again tonight. He just wanted to know when everything opened tomorrow so he could get everything done as soon as possible.

Now that he had done that, he could enjoy the sound of rain on the overhang above and reflect on his conversation with Benrey. He expected a tiny argument at the very least, but the man had accepted the deal without a hint of complaint. He was honestly thankful that Benrey accepted so quickly, he wasn’t sure he would have had the energy to properly defend his idea if they had argued. Overall, this had been a very successful proposition.

“Dude!”

Gordon yelped. “What?!”

“Cask of Amontillado!”

“Huh??”

Benrey was gone before he could ask any sort of coherent question. Not too surprising, but certainly not ideal…

The first thing on his Benrey-specific to-do list was going to be volume control. The second was going to be…context, he supposed. Context for whatever the fuck he was talking about at any given time.

Goodness knows Gordon was gonna need it.

#hlvrai #hlvrai au #metamorphosis au #hlvrai metamorphosis au #half life but the ai is self aware #half life vr but the ai is self aware #fanfic #the metamorphosis of gordon freeman

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m1d-45 · 2 years ago

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i am. thinking about reverse isekai some more to get me through these trying times (finals season) and imagine the stress of having to take care of the poor acolyte(s) who ended up in your world (i'm going with adult reader who has their own apartment and job and pays taxes n shit. just bc i don't want to write abt explaining to parents/roommates what tf is going on)...... like ofc it's super cool like omg your favorite characters!!! irl!!! but after the initial surprise wears off?

obviously you can't just leave them out on the streets bc they'll like. i don't know. get fuckin hit by a car or something so you let them stay in your apartment!! your tiny. one bedroom. apartment. it's fine, you can stay on the couch! you barely have enough food to feed yourself, thanks to your minimum-wage budget? that's fine! you don't have to eat that much, and you can't just let your guests go hungry!!

they try to help the best they can, they really do... but all the finished chores and time spent learning how to use the technology of your world don't change the fact that they can't help with the one thing that seems to matter most in this world - money. with extra people to provide for, you're forced to take up extra shifts, work longer hours, just to earn enough to be able to not have to choose between eating and paying rent.

of course, you don't let them know about all this, but your guests don't tell you that they can hear the way you cry late at night when you think everyone's asleep, stressed out by everything that's suddenly been thrust upon you - teddy anon

god man you 🤝 me

that’s so. ugh man-

at first you’re so starstruck and in awe, excitedly talking to them and showing them what every appliance does—partly so they don’t break them, partly because you like the shine in their eyes as they learn.

the first week is easy, and it’s when you’re shopping that the reality of the situation starts to set in.

you’re not used to having to buy for two, and the subject of their clothing comes up quickly as well. not to mention the fact that they’re probably used to more organic or locally grown stuff, and what if they react badly to food here? and that’s putting aside what they like and prefer too, but you can’t let them leave the house since they’re still not used to everything-

and your job, gosh, you’d taken a few days off at first to help then adjust but now you were feeling the sting of that lost pay. not to mention the fact that all your expenses and bills would go up since, yknow, they needed to use lights and water and all that while you were out of the house.

and if more than one were isekai’d? godspeed, man…

thoma and noelle make themselves useful doing chores, but quickly realizing that there’s little to do. they quickly become antsy; though they try and make food for you to return to, they struggle with your appliances and your tastes, not to mention your lack of raw ingredients.

some like diluc, childe, or ayato try and offer you mora, pulling bags of it from their inventories to of course compensate you for your stay, but it doesn’t go over well. you have to deny them and explain that mora isn’t used here, but all that gets you is stunned confusion—and dawning horror, later, but that’s a burnt bridge when you get to it.

others such as venti or xinyan try and perform on the streets, but it doesn’t pay as well as they want it to. ningguang is a bit more confident in herself, but that crumbles the moment she realizes that she both holds no power here nor has any knowledge of the market. she knows she can do something, be useful, but she doesn’t quite know how, and that’s the worst.

a few tend a bit towards the ‘street performer’ type, whether intentionally or accidentally. i can see kazuha subtly using the wind to guess a number someone’s thinking of, and kaeya could easily keep someone talking long enough to perform some quick sleight of hand. no, he doesn’t steal—you’d get far too mad at him for that—but his ornate get-up and smooth voice draw people in often enough that he makes quite a bit in tips.

keqing, ganyu, and ayaka all offer to either get jobs themselves, but since they technically don’t legally exist, they try and help you apply to better ones instead. thoma might try and do housework for your neighbors—it serves a few purposes, including getting a bit of cash, keeping off legal books, and increasing your relationship with them. jean and ganyu try and help manage your finances, or at least learn how to file your taxes to chip away at the stress they’ve caused.

a few straight up offer to steal—yes, offer, they wouldn’t even breathe without your permission of course they’ll come to you before doing crime—such as dainslef, childe, or kujou sara, but you shut that down quickly enough. xingqiu spends a lot of his time on online writing contests, and the occasional 50-300$ comes in your mailbox, but don’t count on it. albedo might try and sell his art, but he’d much rather give it to you, to be honest. your smile is worth more to him than some stranger’s approval.

some are completely lost. itto, gorou, hu tao, sucrose, collei… they’re all at a loss for what they can do to help. they don’t know your world, they don’t know what’s happening, they don’t know why you lie about it being a guest room so they feel less bad about taking your bed. it doesn’t work.

none of them do, really. after a good few months, maybe a year or so, all of them fall to this level of helplessness. they don’t know how to get you back to their world, they don’t even know how to leave themselves, but it’s clear that their presence here is wearing on you. they try, they do, but even the most chipper of your followers can see how dreary you seem.

it feels wrong to lie in your bed. it feels wrong to depend on you, when it should be the other way around. it’s wrong to take your resources and your time, wrong for you to be the one in distress, and they can’t even do anything about it. they’re stuck within these four walls, unable to help you, stuck being helpless.

from down the hall, they hear you sigh, poring over yet another impossible choice, and the sound alone brings them to tears.

they needed to get you home. but how?

#m1d : [chats]#teddy anon #this should be a formal post ughhjcgggg #i need to stop putting words into stuff that doesn’t matter (not that you don’t matter ted but like. this post isn’t gonna reach a lot of #people i really need to shut up)#i know i haven’t been posting but in my defense sun and moon from fnaf sb #it’s ok i was sad earlier today and am prolly gonna cope w kaveh and or alhaitham so that should help settle me back in a genshin mood #mayyyb a thing w baizhu because i have gotten unreasonably attached wayyy too fast

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maxattax · 1 year ago

Text

Robots

Ectoberhaunt Day 9: Robots

This is a part 2 to Day 2: Technomancy. I'd recommend reading that one first.

CW: None

Summary: Tucker enchants a robot to do his chores for him. Things spiral out of control.

Tucker had to know if his previous experiment was a fluke, or if he really did have some kind of supernatural connection to technology. So, he reasoned, that meant it was time for another experiment.

After his last spell granted him psychic access to his PDA, Tucker pored through the book looking for another spell to try. He knew their working hypothesis was that the spells themselves were just a conduit for his ghostly powers, whatever they were, but he wasn’t sure where else to start. The method for this spell was similar: a circle of candles, sigils drawn on the ground, an electronic device in the middle.

This time, he chose a little robot he had found at a toy store. It was exactly what one would expect from a robot. It was about two feet tall, with a rectangular body, blocky articulated arms, and a cube head with an LED display for a face.

Tucker gently stood the robot up in the middle of the circle. As he lit the candles, he recited, “Let this body be my eyes, my ears, my hands. Let it be bound to my will. Let it fulfill my desires. With my power, give it life.” This time, Tucker was prepared when the candles went out, all at once with a poof. Supernatural energy coursed through his body, and it reached out to the circle.

The little robot in the circle stumbled towards him on clumsy legs. A voice crackled out from its speaker, and its display showed its mouth moving with the words. “Master. How may I serve you?”

“Um.” Tucker didn’t know what he wanted, now that he thought about it. “Bring me a snack.” The robot saluted him and marched up the stairs. Tucker took the opportunity to collect all the candles and clean the chalk off the floor. The robot returned just as he finished scrubbing the concrete.

It was holding a plate of fresh baked cookies. A shout floated down the stairs. “Tucker Foley!” his mom yelled. “Where are my cookies?!” Oh no.

Tucker snatched the plate from the robot. He shoved a cookie in his mouth as he made his way upstairs.

“Oops, sorry Mom. I wouldn’t have eaten them all.”

“All you had to do was ask for one. By the way, did you take my candles again?”

Tucker glanced towards the stairs. Right on cue, his little robot marched through the basement door, balancing a tray of candles on its grabber hands. “Here Mom, I’m done with them.” Angela looked confused, but accepted the tray the robot handed to her. “I’m gonna head up to my room. Come on.” He gestured for the toy to follow. The robot dutifully followed Tucker upstairs.

Tucker sat on his bed and watched the little robot pick up his laundry without being asked. “Man,” he said to himself, “it’d be nice if I had one more so they could do all my chores for me.”

“Unfortunately, Master, I am but one being with only two hands. But I will do everything in my power to assist you.”

“For now, you can focus on cleaning my room,” Tucker ordered.

“Yes sir,” the robot replied.

When Tucker woke the next day, two robots stood at attention at the foot of his bed. His room was immaculate, clothes washed and folded. “What?” he asked in disbelief. “How?”

“I am not tall enough to reach the washing machine. So I acquired another robot to help with my duties,” one explained.

“I… okay.” Tucker sorted out the questions bouncing around in his head. He decided it was better not to ask where the second bot came from, and instead opted to ask, “How did you get it to follow you?”

“With your spellbook, of course,” it said as if that were obvious. “Just as you granted me life, I channeled your will and used the spellbook to bring Beta to life.” It turned to the other robot, a smile displayed on its screen.

“Well, I won’t argue with that. It’ll be nice to have four extra hands around the house. I take it if he’s Beta, you’re Alpha?” Tucker gestured to the robot who had been speaking.

“Yes sir, I thought it prudent that we be able to differentiate ourselves.” It gestured towards its chest, where a blocky A had been painted on its chassis. Tucker noticed a B on the other.

“Fair enough. So, I need to get to school. By the time I get home, I want the dishes done and counters wiped down; kitchen duty is mine on Tuesdays, and I hate doing it.”

Both robots saluted him. “Yes Master,” they said.

When Tucker got home from school, he was greeted by four robots on the porch. Alpha stepped forward. “All your chores have been completed,” it said. “We mowed the lawn as well, but Beta and I were unable to get the mower going on our own, so we enlisted more help.”

Tucker grinned. “Clever. That’s all my chores done for the next couple days, then. Let’s go in. Make me a sandwich, I’m gonna call Danny.” The robots headed off to the kitchen, and Tucker went up to his room.

“Danny, the craziest thing happened,” he said over the video call. “I got this robot and cast a spell to bring it to life, and now it’s doing all my chores!”

Danny looked like he was warring between multiple emotions. He settled on jealousy. “Dude. Lucky you, your powers get you a robot minion to do your chores. All my powers get me are in trouble.”

“Dude. Your powers are so much cooler than mine. You get to fly around and be a superhero! All I get is robots and sending texts without touching my phone. Uh, no offense,” he said, turning to Beta, who had a sandwich in hand.

“None taken,” it said.

Tucker accepted the sandwich and put it on his desk. He leaned back in his chair, feet up on the desk, controller in hand, and started playing Doomed with Danny. Instead of joining the other robots downstairs, Beta stayed with Tucker and watched him play.

“Are you winning, Master?” Beta asked a little while later.

“Sure am!” Tucker bragged. “We’ve already got four of the seven keys!”

“Wow. You are great at video games, and very handsome.”

Tucker bathed in the praise. “Yes. Yes I am.”

When Tucker woke up the next day, his army of robots had grown to eight. “Good morning,” they said as one.

“Good morning, bots!” Tucker said. “Why so many today?” “We wanted to awaken more to bask in your glory, sir,” said Alpha. The robots all bowed.

Tucker was never one to turn down adoration. “Ah, yes. Well, bask away. But I do need to go to school.”

Another robot, this one labeled E, said, “Your clothes are laid out, your backpack packed, and your lunch made.”

“Sick dude, thanks. Wanna come to school with me?” “Yes sir!” it said.

Tucker was at his locker, Epsilon waiting at his side, when Danny joined him. Tucker waved.

Danny said, “Hey Tuck. I’ve heard reports that robot toys are walking out of toy stores on their own. Would you happen to know anything about that?” He eyed Epsilon with suspicion.

Tucker opened his locker and rummaged through it. “No, why do you ask?” “Well, there’s a robot that’s following you around, that’s not exactly normal. With what you told me yesterday, I just wanted to make sure you and your buddy aren’t involved.”

“No, of course not!” Are they? Tucker pushed the thought aside. They said they used the spellbook, they probably found a spell to make a copy of Alpha. No theft involved.

“Alright, if you’re sure.” Danny shrugged. “I’ll keep an eye out for rogue ghosts that could be behind the thefts. Technus totally would steal toy robots.”

Tucker laughed. “He so would.”

A dry laugh played through Epsilon’s speaker. “Ha. Ha. Ha.” Danny raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“Anyway, I gotta get to class. Epsilon, carry my books.”

“Yes, Master,” it said. It held out its arms, and Tucker handed it a small stack of books. He walked off, robot in tow.

This was starting to get ridiculous. The next morning, Tucker saw sixteen robots gathered around his bed.

“Good morning, Master,” they said in one voice.

“Tucker!” Angela shouted from downstairs. “Come down here!” Tucker didn’t know what he’d done, but she did not sound happy.

He sat on the couch and faced his parents. Maurice had his hands on his hips, and Angela’s arms were crossed. Tucker’s heart pounded in his chest.

“What have I told you about using technology to do your chores for you?” Angela stared at her son disapprovingly.

Tucker sighed. “That you give me chores to build work ethic, not just to keep the house clean. But Mom, hasn’t the place looked great?”

“Your mother is right, Tucker,” said Maurice. “If we just wanted the house clean, we could hire a maid. We want you to learn the value of hard work.”

Tucker could see the line of robots creeping down the stairs behind his parents, eavesdropping. He waved his hands in a subtle shooing gesture.

“Your father is off work today, so we’re going out. We’ll be home late. After school, get rid of those robots. We want them gone by the time we get home.”

“Aw man! Fine.” Tucker sulked up the stairs. His robots waited for him in his room. “Sorry guys. They want me to get rid of you. Thanks for taking care of all the chores.”

“You’re welcome. We live to serve,” said Alpha. “But you do not want us gone,” it observed.

“No, you’ve kept me from having to do any work around here. But what Mom and Dad say, goes. Sometimes it makes me just wanna trash the place, see how they like cleaning up. It wouldn’t fix anything, but it would be satisfying.” Tucker groaned in frustration. “Come on guys, let’s finish getting ready for school and I’ll worry about all of that later.”

When Tucker returned home from school and walked up his yard, he could hear a cacophony coming from inside. Banging, crashing, robotic cheers. “Oh no.”

Tucker walked in to a disaster. Tables were overturned, broken glass on the floor, dishes piled in the sink. Water seeped out from under the bathroom floor. Robots were tearing apart his home.

“Why?” Tucker cried dramatically. “Why have you betrayed me?!”

Alpha stood on the kitchen counter. “This was what you wanted, Master. To get back at your parents. We exist only to enact your will. So we’re trashing the place!” It raised a plate above its head and smashed it on the ground. Cheers played from the other robots’ speakers.

“Oh no. Oh nooo.” Tucker muttered to himself. He stepped back outside and called Danny.

“Dude. I need a favor.”

“What’s going on? I’m out looking for whatever ghost took those toys,” Danny replied.

“Yeah, uh, I’m starting to think that was me. Can you come over? Like, now?” Tucker’s voice shook. His parents would be pissed when they got home.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Danny disconnected the call.

By the time Danny arrived, all the plates in the kitchen had been smashed. Tucker had had no success in getting them to stop.

“What the fuck, Tucker?” Danny wasn’t usually so crude, but Tucker couldn’t blame him for the language.

“I made one intelligent robot to help with my chores. I didn’t expect it to make more! It got out of control.”

“You don’t say,” Danny replied drily.

“Can you help?” Tucker pleaded. “They’re not listening to me anymore.”

Danny considered it for a minute. He leaned up close to Tucker and whispered a plan in his ear.

Tucker put two fingers in his mouth and blew. The shrill whistle got the attention of all the rampaging robots.

“I’ve made a decision,” Tucker announced. “This amount of chaos is sufficient for my revenge. Let’s all go outside and you can all worship me together, bask in my presence.”

The robots looked around, hourglasses flipping on their screens. After a moment, the hourglasses changed back to smiling faces. “Yes sir!” they shouted, their speakers crackling with enthusiasm.

As they filed outside, Danny elbowed Tucker. “You’re enjoying this too much.” Tucker only grinned in response.

They followed the robots outside and found a mass of the toys, down on their knees. “All hail Tucker,” they chanted.

Tucker instructed all the robots to hold hands. They obeyed, forming a line. Danny transformed to his ghost form and joined the end of the line. “Let’s see how you like my ghost stinger!”

Danny’s hands sparked with green electricity. The spark traveled down the line, shorting out every robot on the way, falling like dominos and blinking off like a string of Christmas lights. When the last one fell, Danny blew smoke off his fingers. “Did somebody order sixteen fried robots?”

Tucker ran up and hugged Danny. “Thank you! I’m sorry I pulled you into this mess. Thanks for helping me end it.”

“This mess isn’t over yet. Sorry Tuck but I’m not cleaning your house; that’s on you.” Danny pointedly looked through the sliding glass door, where he could easily see the overturned and broken furniture.

“Aw, man!”

The next day at school, Tucker sat with Danny and Sam for lunch. Sam was giggling, and every time she tried to speak, she would break down laughing again. She finally managed to say, “I can’t believe you raised an army of intelligent toy robots and they wrecked your house! How bad did your parents murder you when they got home?”

“Ughhh,” Tucker groaned. “They took all my electronics and said I can have them back when the house is immaculately clean. And that they’re using my allowance to replace everything the robots broke. That’s what I get for trying to get out of my chores.”

“They’re taking your electronics? Can’t you psychically communicate with your PDA now?” Danny asked.

Tucker smirked. “Well, what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

#danny phantom #ectoberhaunt23 #eh science #day 9 #robots #my writing #ectoberhaunt

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husbandomail-archive · 2 years ago

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since ayakashi : romance reborn is set in a historic period can i ask for modern day headcanons of toichiro, shizuki, koga, kyonosuke and/or kagemaru? especially relationship hcs id love to see what kind of experiences they'd gravitate to in the modern period

also with all the new technologies and whatnot haha id also like to see who struggles with technology the most/least 😆

anon I was battling with this one so! what I've done is I'm splitting this into two parts; here's the first two boys, and feel free to lmk if this is along the lines of what you initially wanted, or if you'd like me to do something else with the next three boys. I'll keep working on them and post the second half on another day once it's done.

Toichiro:

Toichiro is adaptable. When he wakes up in your timeline, far ahead of his own, he seems completely unfazed— in fact, before you can catch him, he’s moved all your furniture to the left and is laughing with you trip over your couch. Deep down, he’s probably a bit uncomfortable with his new situation, but he’s going to pretend otherwise.

Whether he’s in a hurry to return home or not— he doesn’t really care, as long as he’s with you— Toichiro’s curiosity surges like a revived bonfire, enthusiasm kindled to new heights by the strange world around him. He wants to experience everything. Unsurprisingly, his favorite part about your world is all the new shopping; clothes in styles he’s never seen before, foods imported impossibly cheap from all over the globe. Of course, the money in his pockets is all but useless now— you wouldn’t mind footing the bill for awhile, would you?

Despite being effectively stranded— or maybe because of that exact reason— Toichiro finds himself trying harder than ever to take care of you, while also completely refusing to admit it. His valiant efforts fall short; no matter how many times you walk him through it, he just can’t get the hang of the stovetop, so he’s constantly getting takeout— except smartphones are also a bit too much for him, so he ends up having to just go out himself and place the orders. But without you around to lead him through this new city, he keeps getting lost— oh no, guess you’ll just have to hold hands on the walk home.

Shizuki:

When you stumble out of your bedroom only to find Shizuki standing at your stove, trying to boil enough water for tea, you’re probably more surprised than he is. When you whisper a startled morning greeting, he just grunts and waves you away from the stove. It’s the way he white-knuckle grips your hand towels that betrays his nerves. Kitchens haven’t changed that much over the centuries— in here, he can at least pretend he wasn’t dragged eons away from home.

As long as you’ve known him, Shizuki hasn’t really been the type to rely so heavily on anyone; despite being clearly out of his depth, startled by things as simple as passing cars, he keeps his jaw set and refuses to admit he’s unnerved by this new world. He’s not very good at hiding it though— he’s snippier than usual when you ask if you can help with chores, since this is your house, after all. You can’t even pour him a drink to relax— even though most of his powers won’t activate now, he still can’t hold his alcohol, and it isn’t long before he’s fussing loudly.

It’s a bit of a surprise, but he adapts to modern technology well; you lent him your cellphone to show him something, and it wasn’t long before he reorganized your apps and added a few of his own, scrolling through endless amounts of cooking blogs and saving more recipes than he’ll ever be able to make. He’s also learned the joys of television after a long day— you come home and find him curled up on the couch, eyes fixed intently on some soap opera that’s older than you are. If you don’t laugh at him, he’ll let you sit next to him, and then he starts explaining the drama of this story you’ve probably heard before.

#fading out of obscurity #ayakashi romance reborn #toichiro yuri #ayakashi shizuki #headcanons #imagines #anon

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stephenjaymorrisblog · 11 months ago

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2023 in the Rear-View Mirror

2024 in My Crystal Ball

Stephen Jay Morris

12/23/2023

Dyslexia is a learning disorder that presents challenges to someone in reading and understanding language. Dyscalculia is to have difficulty with numbers or math. I suffer from both. Dyscalculia is the worst of the two. Thanks to technology, I have a calculator. I’ve always hated math. Whenever I would try to solve a math problem, I’d get a headache. I was often uncertain of the current year. It took me a few years to master telling time. It was a chore to remember dates. When I had a job selling newspapers, I had problems giving change.

I might have inherited the disorder from my mother. I had to nag her to put dates on her paintings. Now, I put dates on all of my articles. It may be a big factor for detectives and scholars of history. Not everyone has a good memory for dates. Everybody remembers their birth date, but hardly anyone knows the date the U.S. Constitution was ratified. Dates are important for everything. Ask anybody when their house was constructed, and you get a blank stare. I am very anal retentive when it comes to dates.

So, what was 2023 like? If you are a self-centered person, you talk about your money and brag about your health. Maybe in 2023, you found Jesus or bought a new car, or got laid for the second time in your life. I don’t know anything about you, and I don’t care. I only care about me!!

Just joking. It’s bad enough that I must think about myself. That is why I care about politics, religion, science, and sports. Gets my mind off my ragged ass. So, what was 2023 like in America and around the globe? Well, nothing that hasn’t been seen before. There was an egomaniac with followers who think he was sent by God. A right-wing Government in Israel who is performing genocide on Semitic Palestinians in the Gaza Strip. The war in Ukraine against Russian imperialists that is raging on. Religious Right fanatics are spreading hatred toward LBGTQ+ because drag queens are reading children’s stories to children in libraries. Youth pastors across the fruited plains are molesting kids. Why is that story not being featured on the nightly news? Hmmmm…I wonder why! The conservatives thought it was a fantastic idea to run America like a business. Ha! And they call me stupid! Now the religious Right wants to run America like a church! Imagine that!!

The good news was: Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr released a new Beatles song thanks to Artificial Intelligence. Taylor Swift is breaking attendance records at her concerts. Covid cases have dwindled. Electric car sales are up. Sickle Cell Anemia is almost cured. And many more.

So, what can we look forward to in 2024? Maybe you will get laid for the 4th time, or maybe you will win your state’s lottery. Maybe, baby! Look, I am not a Nostradamus, and I don’t read tea leaves. I don’t know what the future holds. Good, bad, or indifferent, whatever happens, happens. All I have is the past to reflect upon. I remember how depressing it was after the Kenndey assassination occurred in 1963. Then after the first two months of 1964, the Beatles happened, and the ambiance got bright again. I wish something new and original would happen this new year, like visitors from another planet land on the White House lawn. But it will never happen because subjective reality has no imagination.

Or? Marianne Williamson will be elected president, and she will greet the space Aliens with a bouquet of flowers. Wouldn’t that be based? Fuck, yeah it would!

#stephenjaymorris #poets on tumblr #american politics #poets of tumblr #anarchism #baby boomers #anarchopunk #youtube #anarchocommunism #anarcho primitivism #anarchofeminism #anarcho syndicalism #anarcho capitalism #progressive #marianne williamson

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the-disruptordiaries · 1 year ago

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Entrepreneurship: Turning Impossibility into Opportunity

The Influenced Disruptor

As early as in the age of four, I already witnessed how my father would cut unused gallons and turn it into a “tabo” a thing we use to scoop water for bathing or even doing the dishes. As time goes by, I am truly amazed that there were materials around us that seems useless, yet with my father’s creative hands he recreates many useful things that we utilized for daily household chores or even decorate some of this. There is this one instance that I have seen him diligently welding numerous irons on a pair of boots, then he attached therewith sharp iron on the toe part of the boots. I am quite confused with the functionality of the thing and asked him, he then explained that the metallic surrounded boots will help him climbed up the trees through piercing the sharp irons on the tree trunks, and ensure his safety while pruning the trees around our house.

In my development stage, I thought of my father’s ideas in innovating and utilizing scrap materials were just because we cannot afford materials or equipment to be used in specific chore. However, on this stage where I have gained enough knowledge about innovation and creativity, I have seen my father’s creations as his way of disrupting order of things given limited resources, even in his simple way to help our daily tasks easier. My aforementioned narrative is not just my way to laud my father but, in this narration, I have drawn the fact that I too can be like him and be a potential entrepreneur. Hence, learning our current subject GEE 16 – Entrepreneurial Mind is way too exciting for me that I could be able to hone up my potentials.

With that in mind, our first discussion in the said subject left me astonished firstly when I have learned to differentiate entrepreneurs from businessmen. Entrepreneurs are those who innovate and seize opportunities amidst the limited resources, while businessmen are the ones who market the product made by the entrepreneurs. In some instances, these two domains are commonly interchanged or misunderstood in different lenses, yet in our discussion it was clearly distinguished and understood. Innovations of these said entrepreneurs were not just to give ease to their own lives but also towards the people around them.

It is undeniably true that with today’s large scale of digitally driven society, living in ease is one of the benefits that entrepreneurs offer us. What struck me most in our discussion is the uprising of Big Tech companies in the recent years holding that much capitalization than they were in the early 2000’s. These companies have built their innovations that is conducive to the current needs of the society even when they start on scrap. Their alteration on the order of things have greatly contributed to the progress of our society, thus, influencing aspiring entrepreneurs like me to strive more in making potentials possible even though with limited resources.

Additionally, I felt the urge to established my choices whether I will be an intrapreneur or be an entrepreneur. Through our discussion, I realized that as an aspiring entrepreneur I need to distinguished between how will a student act and how will an entrepreneur act in some aspects. In our class I must not look dumb but since I’m an aspiring entrepreneur I need to risk being wrong. In connection I must be able to learn the culture of being good enough and not being perfect. Lastly, I should be able to ask help and not act that I know the solution or answer.

Considering all the mentioned narrative above, the introduction of this subject is an eye-opener for me that all through the years I have witnessed innovations and creativity that my father has done. Connectively, those years he has inculcated within me the aspirations to be an entrepreneur, even though I will go through the use of technology but directed towards one goal which is to help in socio-economic development. As I will continue my started journey of entrepreneurship, I am filled with delight that many limitations and hindrances I may face but with persistence and potentials I can make impossibility into opportunity.

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radfemkiranerys · 1 year ago

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This is just me venting about my mom before I explode, but if you have insight I'll take all the help I can get lol

I just need a panel of therapists to tell me what to do with my mom. How do I go about arranging this? Is there such a thing as mother daughter therapists? One time my mom made me go to couples counseling with her because I once forgot to thank her for making dinner. She also put a whole ton of rules on when I could use the car we shared because I left it in the garage for her and she didn't think to look there when she needed it. She also didn't call me to ask if I had it she just waited all day so she missed church just so she could lecture me when I got done walking home. Now she has me work as her personal google machine because she's afraid of technology and if I do it wrong I have to do it again. And when she decided to shut her phone off she didn't think to text me to say I wouldn't be able to reach her, no she wrote me a letter that took 3 weeks to get to me so for 3 weeks I couldn't get a hold of her and didn't know why. I show her stuff that's important to me and she just talks about how she doesn't like it, I just really don't think the pros of having a mom outweigh the bad??? She also told me in a house fire if she could only choose one shed choose my step dad over me. So I just don't know what to do and I'm so tired. I dread seeing her, I don't want dad having the satisfaction of being the remaininf parent but I'm going crazy. Have you ever had your mom ask your to research how to build your own telephone so it basically doesn't use electricity???????? Wtf. It's not a thing. She wants me to search all this stuff that I don't know anything about and then gets mad when I can't explain it well. I'm the family member she's closest too, she doesn't have many other people to rely on so I hate to step back but I'm so tired. I thought the list of chores she gave me would calm down but every week for a year now there's a list. She wants me to read through Amazon reviews of a lantern to see if it tells me a comparable wattage???? I just don't know what to do anymore.

#personal #if anyone is old enough to adopt me im accepting applications

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peruvian-nights · 5 months ago

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Blog post #2 Family Values

As with most cultures families are the primary transmitters of their cultural heritage, including language, folklore, and customs. Children learn cultural practices through participation in family and community events, and they have them alot. Every single city we went to on my travels there was some sort of festival, gathering, or public event being held. Most of the time they involved alcohol. Gender roles and what not seem to be on par with most Latin American cultures, boys and girls might be assigned different chores and responsibilities, aka farming, weaving, and generally an old fashioned sense of gender roles if you will. However, there is a growing movement towards gender equality, especially in densely populated urban areas, Lima specifically. Which tends to be the case for urban areas. Also there was a noticeable pride community emerging when I was there. Peruvians have a great respect for their elders and consider them great sources of wisdom and knowledge of all sorts. They treat them with the upmost care, it seemed that most all of them are taken care of within the family no nursing homes that I could see and many of which still work till their death, providing for their families and being part of the collective. Which brings me to my next point Peruvian culture is a collectivism like nonother. I mean sure there's obviously the slums of the cities and country sides where you definitely shouldn't trust your neighbor. But for the majority of the what I saw from the country is that these people are all working together to fuel the community and grow together. Farming as a community, events with the entire town, helping out thy neighbor. You'll see a lot of unfinished homes and buildings with rebar sticking out the roofs, they do this because instead of finishing the house and calling it good they hope to grow their family or shared living and add additionally floors to it. Which I think was a pretty unique shared mindset that these people have.

Globalization has brought both opportunities and challenges to traditional family structures in Peru and across the world at that. Access to education and modern communication technologies has broadened horizons, but it has also introduced new cultural influences that can conflict with traditional values, but this goes with every culture in the world. I think for those who live in more rural areas this can be very beneficial when it comes to hygiene, medicinal practices, child education, and so on and so forth. Migration from rural to urban areas, and international migration have significantly impacted family structures. Many families experience separation due to migration, leading to changes in traditional roles and support systems. As well as leaving generational homes abandoned due to climate change, financial opportunities, and the new age of these people's roles in their respective communities. Despite these changes, Peruvian families exhibit resilience by adapting traditional practices to new contexts. For example, urban families might maintain strong ties with their rural roots via visits to their tio and tia and of course participation in traditional festivals(more booze). I think that the Peruvian people hold their traditions and customs very close to the heart and although major changes have been underway they will continue to preserve their rich and meaningful history.

Above is a picture from a museum in Lima that was full of Incan artifacts and tributes to their goddess of fertility

Above is a picture of somebody's abuella, she lived on and island made of reeds in a very small community with around 50 people in the middle of Lake Titicaca. This group of people for generations have had to constantly robe and secure massive amounts of these reeds to provide a floating haven in the middle of a lake.

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bearthelazypup-blog · 5 months ago

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Blog post #3 Family Values

Above is a picture from a museum in Lima that was full of Incan artifacts and tributes to their goddess of fertility

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dumblemonchickenwing · 5 months ago

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mysogyny tw, vent

Mysogyny is probably in small things, at least in my life. If I just sit and someone asks me "have you experienced mysogyny?" I'd probably doubt it because I can't give a proof that would convince people.

But when I look at all the small details in my life, it's sprinkled all over: I have an obligation to do my brother's chores. Which means that he has less responsibility than me, because aside from that we are on equal footing. We both work a full time job.

I have an obligation to do overall chores and look after the apartment, where 5 people live. If I forget or am not feeling up to doing it once, I get yelled at by my mother and I face dire consequences. ANd the argument is always "you're a girl! Girls are supposed to be tidy and take care of the house!"

When my parents discuss their old age they always look at me because they expect that I will be the one who will take care of them when they will have dementia. In family my brother is supposed to be the person who "continues the bloodline" which implies that his life is his own, and I will take on the responsibility for the rest.

I am not allowed to have a PC. I tried to talk about it with my parents and they forbade it, with a very negative reaction. I have a laptop that can't handle videogames, especially games that weigh a lot. This is part why I only draw, because I have no other option. I only play games through my brother's switch, which means, again, the only reason I can enjoy gaming is because of my brother. My parents wouldn't allow that.

My brother has the technology, he buys new things, while I wait until my old and rusty keyboard and mouse, laggy laptop break down completely, so that I'd be able to get something new. And all of that is normal.

Not to mention how much more hostile my mother is to me than toward her son (my brother). And I've already shared about how she gave my phone number to a woman I didnt know behind my back, without discussing it (a procedure where one family hands down their daughter to the other so their son would meet her). But we never really discuss anything because my parents always decided things for me without my opinion.

I've occasionally had talks (which mainly was them talking and me listening) about me marrying someone, and it was always presented in a "if you do X thing no man will ever marry you" and presenting it in a way as though I hold no value unless I have a man to look out for or take care of.

The reason my mother gave birth to me was for the sake of my brother , so I kinda see why I get this attitude.

I admit I am used to it. But if I am writing this, then this means I'm not actually okay with it.

#mysogyny #mysoginy #vent #personal #oversharing tw #maybe someone out there will feel they are not alone in this.

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wolverenmayden · 6 months ago

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In love with a ghost

A witch falls in love with a ghost haunting their family's ancestral home and must uncover the truth behind the ghost's death to release their spirit. An architect designs a house with a hidden room that alters reality, creating a whimsical, ever-changing world for its inhabitants to explore. A couple falls in love in a post-apocalyptic world ruled by a tyrant, and they must fight against the forces of darkness to stay together and protect their love, even if it means making the ultimate sacrifice. A curious child discovers a hidden room filled with magical artifacts that transport them into a series of surreal, whimsical adventures in other realms. An ancient mermaid prophecy foretells the arrival of a human hero who will help save their underwater kingdom from an evil sea creature's reign of terror. A musician discovers a magical instrument that transports them to a surreal dreamscape, where they must navigate a series of otherworldly challenges through the power of their music. A person adopts a goat to help them with their farm chores and discovers that the goat has a talent for fixing things, leading to a career as a farm repair goat. A group of artists creates a performance piece that explores the relationship between humans and bees and how it has evolved over time. A beekeeper discovers that their bees are able to transport them to different worlds and dimensions, leading to a journey through the multiverse. A forbidden love affair between a cellist and a poet unfolds in a town where the annual burning of leaves marks the passage of time, their passion fueled by the smoldering embers and the intensity of their art. A hidden chamber beneath a museum holds a collection of enchanted paintings that serve as portals to surreal, otherworldly dimensions. A guitarist's strumming creates ripples in reality, allowing them to glimpse into alternate worlds and explore the surreal landscapes they've inadvertently created. A group of explorers discovers a long-lost alien civilization, but the technology they uncover proves to be far more dangerous than they could have imagined. A small town is haunted by a mysterious figure who appears only in the reflections of shattered mirrors, causing paranoia and fear among the residents. A struggling writer is visited by their favorite authors from history, who share their wisdom and guide the writer on a whimsical journey of self-discovery. A brilliant scientist creates a device that can manipulate time, but with each use, it unleashes an unspeakable horror into the world.

Magyarul(In Hungarian):

Szerelmes egy szellembe

Egy boszorkány beleszeret egy szellembe, aki családjuk ősi otthonában kísérti, és fel kell tárnia a szellem halála mögött meghúzódó igazságot, hogy felszabadítsa a szellemét. Egy építész egy házat tervez egy rejtett szobával, amely megváltoztatja a valóságot, és egy szeszélyes, állandóan változó világot teremt a lakói számára. Egy pár beleszeret egy poszt-apokaliptikus világban, amelyet egy zsarnok ural, és harcolniuk kell a sötétség erőivel, hogy együtt maradjanak és megvédjék szerelmüket, még akkor is, ha ez a végső áldozat meghozatalával jár. Egy kíváncsi gyerek felfedez egy rejtett szobát, amely tele van varázslatos tárgyakkal, amelyek szürreális, szeszélyes kalandok sorozatába repítik őket más birodalmakban. Egy ősi sellő prófécia megjövendöli egy emberi hős érkezését, aki segít megmenteni a víz alatti birodalmukat egy gonosz tengeri lény rémuralmától. Egy zenész felfedez egy varázslatos hangszert, amely egy szürreális álomvilágba repíti őket, ahol zenéjük erejével túlvilági kihívások sorában kell eligazodniuk. Egy személy örökbe fogad egy kecskét, hogy segítsen neki a mezőgazdasági munkákban, és felfedezi, hogy a kecskének van tehetsége a dolgok megjavításához, ami egy farmjavító kecske karrierjéhez vezet. Egy művészcsoport egy performansz darabot hoz létre, amely az emberek és a méhek kapcsolatát kutatja, és hogyan alakult az idők során. Egy méhész felfedezi, hogy méheik különböző világokba és dimenziókba tudják szállítani őket, ami a multiverzumban való utazáshoz vezet. Egy csellista és egy költő tiltott szerelmi viszonya bontakozik ki egy városban, ahol az évenkénti falevél égetés jelzi az idő múlását, szenvedélyüket a parázsló parázs és művészetük intenzitása táplálja. A múzeum alatti rejtett kamrában elvarázsolt festmények gyűjteményét tárolják, amelyek szürreális, túlvilági dimenziók portáljaként szolgálnak. A gitáros pengetése hullámzást kelt a valóságban, lehetővé téve számukra, hogy bepillantást nyerjenek az alternatív világokba, és felfedezzék a véletlenül létrehozott szürreális tájakat. Felfedezők egy csoportja felfedez egy régen elveszett idegen civilizációt, de az általuk feltárt technológia sokkal veszélyesebbnek bizonyul, mint gondolták volna. Egy kisvárost egy titokzatos alak kísért, aki csak a széttört tükrök tükörképében jelenik meg, paranoiát és félelmet keltve a lakókban. Egy küzdő írót meglátogatnak kedvenc szerzőik a történelemből, akik megosztják egymással bölcsességüket, és az írót az önfelfedezés szeszélyes útjára kalauzolják. Egy zseniális tudós olyan eszközt hoz létre, amely képes manipulálni az időt, de minden egyes használattal kimondhatatlan rémületet szabadít a világba.

#wolverenmayden #art

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jcmarchi · 8 months ago

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Give It Some Thought: Imagine Operating a Smartphone. Or a Drone. Or a Computer That Speaks. Just Imagine - Technology Org

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/give-it-some-thought-imagine-operating-a-smartphone-or-a-drone-or-a-computer-that-speaks-just-imagine-technology-org/

Give It Some Thought: Imagine Operating a Smartphone. Or a Drone. Or a Computer That Speaks. Just Imagine - Technology Org

Dennis DeGray’s path to the extraordinary world of brain-computer interfaces began with a mishap during the most mundane of chores: taking out the trash. He was running to the curb on a rainy night when he went flying head over heels. In the murk of semiconsciousness, he thought he’d been bound by someone breaking into his house. It wasn’t until the next day that a neighbor heard his calls to be freed. “Dennis,” the man told him, “you’re not tied up.”

Illustration by Brian Stauffer, Stanford University

DeGray had simply slipped, breaking his neck between the second and third vertebrae. The machinist and former volunteer firefighter was paralyzed from the neck down. The week before his injury, he’d been on a guys’ trip in Northern California, shooting and fishing; the next, he says, his world had shrunk to bed and constant TV. “It’s amazing how one minute’s bad decision can really change everything,” he says. “You just lay there like a slug, waiting to die, until you have a reason to move forward. Then that reason becomes everything.”

DeGray’s everything is his leading role in an ongoing Stanford study of experimental devices that allow brains that can no longer fully communicate with their bodies to instead communicate with computers. In August 2016, nearly a decade after the accident, Stanford professor of neurosurgery Jaimie Henderson implanted a pair of electrode arrays the size of baby aspirins in the region of DeGray’s brain that is dominant for controlling his right hand—or was, before the accident throttled that communication. The so-called Utah arrays, each resembling a tiny bed of a hundred 1-millimeter nails, pierced just far enough into DeGray’s motor cortex to eavesdrop on surrounding neurons and relay the information to outside computers poised to decode it.

A month after surgery, DeGray made his first attempt to use the device. By visualizing moving his hand—essentially willing it to do what it no longer could—DeGray transmitted the neural signals that allowed him to gain control of a computer cursor in 37 seconds. Shortly thereafter, he was tasked with hitting 50 targets on the monitor before him. “I got them,” he says. “I got all 50 of them.” He remembers silence from the scientists in the room. “They’re a dry bunch,” he says. But it was an auspicious meeting of man and machine. Over the past seven years, DeGray has devoted himself to pushing the research further. In 2017, he set a mental typing record of eight words a minute by imagining himself hunt-and-pecking on a virtual keyboard. In 2020, he tried a new method—imagining writing letters out by hand, so that researchers could attempt and assess the decoding of mental handwriting. To train the algorithms, DeGray spent days visualizing holding a pen to a yellow notepad and picturing the act of writing out thousands of letters, stroke by stroke. “It was like punishment, but I did it religiously,” he says. He describes the task as a combination of writing sentences in after-school detention and being walloped by a personal trainer at the gym. “It’s a workout,” he says. “It requires me to attempt the movements. I’m as tight as I can be and as flexed as I can be. My blood pressure goes up. I have to be reminded to breathe.” The results—converted to type by computer—validated the effort. DeGray more than doubled his own record, to 18 words a minute.

‘I like to think of it like we’re developing the alphabet that other people will use to write books.’

The findings were proof of concept, not medical product. DeGray could tap his new powers only in the presence of researchers who calibrate and run a complex system that requires a trolley of computers that plug into pedestals attached to his skull. But they were eye-catching evidence of the potential for BCIs—brain-computer interfaces—to transcend the barrier between the interior of the brain and the external world, a leap that may one day enable people with a wide variety of neurological conditions to regain function in movement, communication, and vision, and that ultimately may provide a novel platform for treating and monitoring brain health and recovery. DeGray doesn’t expect that future to come quickly enough to change his life, but he has dedicated himself to its promise. “I like to think of it like we’re developing the alphabet that other people will use to write books.”

Sense and Sensibility

When Henderson, the doctor who operated on DeGray, joined the Stanford faculty in 2004, he brought expertise in deep brain stimulation, which delivers tiny jolts of electricity to the brain as a treatment for several conditions, including Parkinson’s disease. He’d been trying in vain to find a partner to explore the emerging world of BCI when, shortly after his arrival at Stanford, he was introduced to Krishna Shenoy, then an assistant professor of electrical engineering. Shenoy was dedicated to decoding the language of neurons, the voltaic pulses that send information throughout the nervous system. He had developed algorithms increasingly adept at deciphering the neural commands that control hand and arm movements in monkeys. His goal was to translate that work to humans—exactly what Henderson was looking for. It was the beginning of a relationship that would result in the formation of the shared Neural Prosthetic Translational Lab in 2009 and one that would last until Shenoy’s death from pancreatic cancer last year at 54. “It was chemistry,” Shenoy told Stanford Medicine in 2017. “Two people who just clicked.”

The pair met at a crucial time for BCIs. The first in-person studies were just beginning, after decades of animal testing. In 2004, researchers from Brown University and several other institutions performed the first human implementation of a Utah array, the spiky sensor that remains the gold standard for academic research in the field. That study implanted a sensor in the brain of a 24-year-old man who had been paralyzed by a knife to the neck, giving him basic cursor control as well as the ability to open and close a prosthetic hand and move a robotic arm. It was a vivid illustration not only that the brain retains its ability to issue orders years after the body stops receiving them, but that a BCI can provide it an attentive new audience. While the performance was groundbreaking, it was also rudimentary. A New York Times piece, published the same day the study appeared in Nature, noted the cursor control was wobbly and slow—taking 2.5 seconds, on average—and that the participant could only “somewhat” control the robotic arm. The reporter, however, cited another BCI study from the same issue of the journal, this time tested in monkeys, that reportedly operated about four times as fast. The work was from the Shenoy lab.

Brain stimulation – artistic interpretation.

In the years to follow, much of the excitement around BCIs centered on the potential for brain-controlled robotic limbs. In 2016, President Barack Obama fist-bumped with a robotic arm controlled by Nathan Copeland, a 30-year-old with paralysis. Copeland not only controlled the fist but also sensed the bump, thanks to electrodes implanted in a region of the brain that processes sensory information from the body. The Stanford research focused on areas that were less visually demonstrative, but graceful, intuitive, and effective. In a 2018 study led by Paul Nuyujukian, MS ’11, PhD ’12, MD ’14, now a Stanford assistant professor of bioengineering and of neurosurgery, participants used their thoughts to peruse music, search YouTube, and compose emails.

It was all done with BCIs that connected via Bluetooth with generic computer tablets fresh from Amazon. The humdrum hardware belied the fiendish complexity of the process: Nuyujukian compared the job of decoding neural commands to listening to a hundred people speaking a hundred different languages. But in a world where there’s an app for everything, researchers saw the power in creating ways to seamlessly control the consumer electronics that dominate everyday life. “We had to persevere in the early days, when people said, ‘Ah, it’s cooler to do a robotic arm—it makes a better movie,’” Shenoy told MIT Technology Review in 2021. But “if you can click, then you can use Gmail, surf the web, and play music.”

Stanford’s lead researchers understood how vital a role BCIs could play in communication. Shenoy said his work was influenced by his maternal grandfather—a World War II–era U.S. Marine—whose multiple sclerosis had affected his ability to walk, talk clearly, and move his hands effectively. Henderson was 5 when his father sustained severe and lasting injuries in a car accident, including serious brain trauma. “He would try to express himself really, really hard,” Henderson says. “It was hard to understand what he said. Eventually, we would usually figure out what silly pun he was trying to make, or that he was proud of us for something.” Henderson says his childhood imbued him with an awareness of the power of communication, a value mirrored in the lab’s goals. “For me, that’s the most important thing.”

When Henderson and Shenoy started collaborating, the idea of using BCIs to decode speech seemed distant indeed. Primates provide a model for motor studies, but no lab animal is relevant to speech, a uniquely human process controlled by a blizzard of electrical pulses to 100-some muscles in the cheeks, lips, jaw, tongue, and larynx. But in more recent years, a series of scientific strides—including a better understanding of the geography of the brain, improved surgical procedures, and, most prominently, the rise of machine learning—transformed the possibilities.

In 2021, a team from the lab of Edward Chang, a neurosurgeon at UCSF, published a groundbreaking paper detailing the use of a BCI that decoded the speech of a former field worker who had had a stroke 16 years earlier. The average American knows about 42,000 English words and speaks perhaps 150 of them per minute. At 18 words a minute and limited to a 50-word vocabulary, the BCI breakthrough was front-page news in the New York Times. “Not to be able to communicate with anyone, to have a normal conversation and express yourself in any way, it’s devastating, very hard to live with,” the research participant said via email in the piece, later adding, “It’s very much like getting a second chance to talk again.”

‘So many years of not being able to communicate and then suddenly the people in the room got what I said.’

The Stanford lab began to publish its own speech work last year, pushing the frontier even further. One of the key participants was Pat Bennett. A dozen years earlier, her words had begun to slur after she drank a glass of wine, prompting friends to suspect that the daily jogger and regular equestrian was hiding a drinking problem. In fact, Bennett had amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, or ALS, a progressive neurodegenerative disease that often results in death within five years. Bennett’s disease moved more slowly, but it was quick to attack her power of speech.

After hearing about Stanford’s BCI research from her medical team, Bennett volunteered to participate. In March 2022, Henderson implanted four sensors in two areas of her brain associated with speech. About a month later, she began working with Stanford scientists who cued her to recite thousands of sentences over the following four months. As Bennett read the prompts, machine learning algorithms began to correlate her brain signals with the sounds she intended. The results were fed into a sophisticated autocorrect system not unlike those on a smartphone.

By the end of training—some 10,850 sentences later—the software was deciphering Bennett’s speech into text at more than 60 words a minute using a 125,000-word vocabulary. The error rate of 23.8 percent was significant, but Bennett was delighted. “When the study advanced enough that I actually saw my garbled incomprehensible vocal noises translate to what I was saying, it was joyous,” Bennett wrote in a recent email. “So many years of not being able to communicate and then suddenly the people in the room got what I said. I don’t remember what I exactly said after the prescribed script finished, but it had to be along the lines of ‘Holy shit, it worked, I’m so happy, and you guys did it.’”

“I overloaded the memory on my phone because I would take videos of it every single time,” says doctoral student Erin Kunz, MS ’20, one of three lead authors of the paper, who had often decoded her father’s speech for others before he died of ALS. “I don’t want to delete them, because I want to remember it.”

Signal Boost

The Bennett paper was published in the same issue of Nature as a paper from Chang’s UCSF lab, which had used a different type of BCI in another participant unable to speak due to stroke. (It also created a digital avatar that modeled the woman’s emotions.) Their decoder was able to decipher that woman’s speech to text at 78 words per minute with a 1,000-word vocabulary and a 25.5 percent word error rate. By themselves, the two studies were obvious milestones of how quickly speech decoding research was moving, but just six weeks later a team led by scientists at UC Davis won the 2023 BCI Award with their demonstration of a BCI that reported decoding speech with better than 90 percent accuracy with a 125,000-word vocabulary on the second day of use. (Henderson and Kunz are among six Stanford co-authors on the study, which at press time had not yet been published in a journal.)

In fact, speech BCIs may be the first type available to the public, says UC Davis assistant professor of neurological surgery Sergey Stavisky, PhD ’16, a senior author on the winning study and a former student of Shenoy’s. The neural decoding required for control of robotic limbs—his initial focus at Stanford—is actually simpler, Stavisky says. But effectively executing those commands incurs other challenges, including the engineering of responsive, reliable, and mobile robotics. Similar challenges face researchers working on BCIs that could enable patients with severed spinal cords to move their arms and legs. Control of an appendage isn’t just a motor command; it also requires proprioception, or the sense of one’s own body in space. Think of how strange it can be to move an arm that’s fallen asleep or to chew after having Novocain at the dentist.

Once decoded, however, speech can be expressed relatively easily using consumer electronics. Stavisky imagines a fast-approaching future when people carry speech BCIs on their laps or belts. “I think within the next five years there will be approved medical devices for restoring communication.” (Less is known about the potential of BCIs to enable speech for those who have never spoken. “We haven’t taken that leap yet because we wanted to first show that our approach works well for the easier challenge of restoring lost speech,” Stavisky says. “It’s definitely something that’s on our radar and is one of the directions we aspire to investigate in the future.”)

Stavisky and Henderson are among the nine principal investigators of the BrainGate Consortium, a group of universities and academic medical centers studying BCIs. The collaboration has also enabled researchers to investigate the devices’ safety. A recent study of 14 BCIs implanted by BrainGate institutions, including two at Stanford, did not find any adverse effects that resulted in deaths, increased disabilities, or infections to the nervous system, or that required removal of the device.

One of the most remarkable things about the rise of BCIs is that they do so much with so little. In a three-pound organ containing billions of neurons, the sensors in studies like those involving DeGray and Bennett may be reading signals from just dozens of neurons. “It is really fascinating this works at all,” says Cindy Chestek, PhD ’10, a former student in Shenoy’s lab and an assistant professor of biomedical engineering at the University of Michigan. Indeed, the Bennett experiment succeeded even though two of the four arrays did not provide relevant signals. Even so, realizing the full potential of BCIs—like enabling more naturalistic speech and movement—will depend on reading out much more data from the brain than currently possible. “It’s going to get a lot better when you have hundreds or even thousands of neurons,” Chestek says.

That requires new hardware, a likely prospect as companies jockey to create improved BCI products that could be approved for public use. The company with an inside lane uses a minimally invasive approach. Synchron—which last year became the first company to begin human trials of an implanted BCI in the United States—feeds a stent-like sensor up the jugular vein to the motor cortex, where it lines the wall of a blood vessel.

The device’s remove from neurons means it isn’t nearly as powerful as an implant—the current model allows participants with ALS to scroll and click a mouse, says Tom Oxley, the company’s CEO. But he thinks people will prefer the less invasive approach, and even these capabilities offer a transformative opportunity. “If you can navigate your way through an iPhone, you can do a bunch of meaningful tasks that we take for granted: shopping, ordering food, ordering your medication, jumping on a call, sending a message,” Oxley says. “That stuff gives you your independence back.”

Brain-machine interface – artistic interpretation. Image credit: Alius Noreika, created with DALL·E 3

Other companies are refining the Utah array model—creating implantable chips with more electrodes that will read out information wirelessly and use more bio-friendly designs. Existing BCIs in participants like Bennett have tended to decline in performance over time, due to either the brain’s resistance to a foreign body or the device’s degradation. Paradromics, an Austin, Texas–based company, is developing wireless implants that have more than four times the number of electrodes as a Utah array, says Vikash Gilja, MS ’10, PhD ’10, the company’s chief science officer. At the same time, he says, the devices are made of more durable material with thinner, less obtrusive electrodes. “The smaller we get them, the closer they are to being invisible to the body,” he says. The company expects to get FDA approval for clinical trials this year. Neuralink, a company co-founded by Elon Musk, is pursuing a similar track.

If these companies—or others like them—succeed, they could provide a platform for new approaches across a wide range of medical needs, Chestek says. “You’re interfacing with the brain at a neuronal level,” she says. “You can imagine a future of medicine where a lot of what you do is interacting with neurons and getting the body’s own control system to do things.” Conversely, BCIs could play a brain-monitoring role. Nuyujukian’s lab, for example, is looking at the potential for BCIs to shed light on stroke recovery. Each year, hundreds of thousands of Americans survive a stroke, often requiring intense physical rehab that occurs without any reliable window on how well it’s working. “We don’t have any scientific understanding into what changes at the neural-circuit level postinjury,” he says. A BCI could provide “a real-time readout of the state the brain” that guides how patients are treated. BCIs could ultimately offer similar insights for conditions such as epilepsy, depression, and Alzheimer’s.

Taking Flight

From his bed in a Menlo Park nursing home, DeGray continues to help researchers demonstrate what is possible. Last summer, he cast aside his imaginary pen and took to the air. Two miles away, a drone was taking off, flying, and landing, all under the command of DeGray’s thoughts. The research was gathering data on 4-D control— up/down, forward/backward, left/right, and rotation—but it was also simply and undeniably about fun, a symbol of the freedoms that BCIs promise. “You have to get him to quit,” says Henderson. “It’s like ‘OK, Dennis. We’ve been at this for hours. You’re going to get tired. We have to stop for today.’”

The work continues without Shenoy, which weighs on Henderson’s mind. “It’s very tough because it grew organically and it was truly a joint venture,” he says. Shenoy was both a visionary whose work transformed the field and a beloved mentor to a generation of scientists who continue to push its boundaries. Before his first cancer surgery, in 2011, he began to bank recommendation letters for his students, which he would update whenever he felt his health decline.

At his memorial service, there were nearly 20 tenured or tenure-track faculty who’d been his advisees, a remarkable output for a small lab, Stavisky says. “He was probably the best adviser I have ever even heard of,” Chestek says. “We’re not going to see another Krishna, but maybe all of us together can keep all of this going.” For Henderson, that means sticking to the vision he and Shenoy developed together, thanks to the collaboration of other engineering faculty.

DeGray will keep helping show the way. He’s contributed to thousands of hours of research and been central to a score of academic papers. Eight years after his surgery, the signals from his implants have remained serviceable, and his commitment unflagging. He works with Stanford researchers two days a week, and says he’d add a third if he had more energy. He’ll always be processing what he lost that day when he was hurrying to take out the trash, he says. “It’s so big you can’t really address it.” But he’s gained something too. “I’ve been given a great gift of being able to help other people,” he says. “Somewhere out there, there’s a guy who hasn’t even fallen down yet and when he falls down, he’s not going to have to go through what I’ve gone through. When he wakes up in the morning, his life will be substantially different than mine. And that’s a good thing.”

Source: Stanford University

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