walriding

[walriding]

I made him a little pathetic as a treat

[walriding]

"Well, hey, at least you've got the normal bleeding thing going for you." It's not exactly a joke even if it's delivered with the air of one, an offered juncture at which the conversation can pivot if Lance wants it to. They can navigate right back to more familiar territory, a place where neither has to keep admitting just how much their respective places fucked them up. A place where they can put the masks back on.

Because he doesn't want to tell Lance that he knows some of what happened to him in that building -- not all of it, but more than what the footage and the personal supplementals he's been granted have laid out. But Miles can feel the rest of the truth, can see it just out of the corner of his eye, and he's been doing everything in his power not to turn his head and focus on it because that feels unfair, or like a flat out violation. That doesn't prevent some awareness of the thoughts and fears that sometimes roll off of Lane in waves, too strong to be ignored when he's all but projecting them outward. Of course he has no way of knowing how much the other man's eternal plus one has already scooped out of Miles' head and reported back to Lance. Maybe he already knows everything, and Miles is just trying to maintain some false and already broken sense of courtesy about the whole thing. Still, it feels like a necessary line to draw -- even if only for his sake if not Lance's. Don't go digging around in the heads of people you give a shit about seems like a solidly bare minimum.

For a moment he thinks that the bait's been taken and they're going to settle back into their usual tepid camaraderie. He wanders across the small space and deposits himself unceremoniously on the armchair that always seems to occupy the corner of every hotel room. Even if they are going to pretend at a return to normalcy, he's not going to just leave Lance alone after all of that.

He's surprised, then, to be met with a question, hesitant but obviously sincere. Sincere enough that he pauses before he answers, a slow inhale and exhale through his nose to buy himself time. He doesn't realize that he'd bitten the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood -- thick and not quite coppery like it should be where it stains his tongue.

"Kind of a loaded question," he mutters, sounding almost defensive. It's one thing to dissect the state that someone else is in, another to have that same lens turned on you. A position Miles rarely enjoys finding himself in. "Does it matter? If it's good or... does it matter? It just. Is. For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, for whatever the fuck else." Something between a laugh and a sigh escapes his lips, breathy and desperate. He looks at Lance, across the room, and he knows he could probably worm his way out of this conversation if he really wanted to. Laugh it off completely. He doesn't owe him or anyone honesty, doesn't owe him those vulnerable parts of himself that such a simple question cuts so close to. Maybe it isn't about owing, though. Maybe their relationship is worth more than the detached, transactional air they've been trying to give it. Miles has shown his hand already. What's really the risk of doing it again, for the sake of someone who might actually fucking get it for once?

"I think it's good that Murkoff doesn't have it anymore. I think, if I could go back, do it differently, I... I wouldn't. Not if it meant they won. Better me than anyone else -- at least I'm doing something halfway decent with it." Christ if that isn't the most egotistical mindset, but it's true. There's the flipside, too, the thought that he's better off suffering than anyone else Murkoff would've saddled with it. That he deserves it because he walked right into it. But that part he elects to keep to himself. "Anything else is... it scares the shit out of me, but sometimes I don't think it matters how I feel about any of it. It was always going to happen. It was always going to be me. Maybe nothing I've done or been has ever mattered, except for this. Maybe me saying it's good or bad is just some bullshit coping mechanism, deluding myself into thinking it was ever a choice, but fuck, that's all I have."

"It's not the surviving in itself that I'm worried about" Lance admits at last, since with so much of it all laid bare already, he figures that it's no real use keeping the rest of it hidden. He looks at Miles with that, allowing it to seep through. That doubt. That fear. That worry indeed.

"It's the how I did it...Am doing it" he corrects himself halfway through, then looks away at last. Miles tries his best to explain it away in a sense, and he appreciates it, he honestly does. It's just not quite the point he's trying to make with all of this.

He sighs and his hand twitches, itches to reach up and do just that. Pick at the scar beneath his left eye, long since healed.

"No. It's not really about changing the past either. Fuck no. That's how I got into this whole mess to begin with" he mutters and at some point, his hand has started rubbing at the scar after all. It still stings and he's quick to let go, though it has driven the point home just fine again.

"I guess you put it quite nicely. It's just about reminding myself that I do, in fact, still bleed. Like a normal fucking guy. Despite everything."

This. Whatever the fuck it truly is that is inside his mind now.

"They fucked me up real good in there" he admits some more, the look on his face making it obvious that he's still traumatized by it to this day, doesn't even bother hiding that anymore.

He digests it all some more, everything that just exploded out of him, everything that he'd been bottling up for so. fucking. long. Keeps looking at the other as he does so, digests everything he's been saying in return.

Maybe we’re just lucky.

That's the one thing that keeps spinning around and around in his head now. Especially now that he can't quite escape the thought. That he only bleeds and is only alive because of this thing. Something that has total control, that leaves him terrified, ever so worried about losing himself to it, too. Of it distorting him so much that one day, he really might just...not care anymore. No. Better keep picking just to stop that from happening.

Still. He can't help but wonder. Needs to ask. With the only person who might know how complicated it really is right before him.

Maybe we're just lucky.

"Do you think it's...a good thing? That this thing's attached to you now? The Walrider?"

[walriding]

oh mag 120 you are so miles upshur coded

[walriding]

     Everything is too clean, too stark white, like a memory that’s been left to bleach in the sun for too long. That’s the first indication that this is a dream. Reality had been far messier. But the space is, otherwise, entirely the same. The same yawning ceiling, the same towering globe of black paneling and blinking lights looming overhead. Glass fishbowls are arranged all around it. One of them is occupied, just as it was back then. The body inside has its arms and legs pulled backwards at harsh and uncomfortable angles, mouth and nose alike intubated beyond recognition. 

     Incidentally, the owner of said body is currently standing next to Miles, too. He looks better than the version of him encased in glass does. He looks less… dead. His head hasn’t been shaved and he’s wearing actual clothing, and his overall appearance is that of your fairly standard 23 year old. But there’s a harshness to his eyes, a steely sort of knowing that speaks to experiences well beyond his years. The anger pinching at his features is old and familiar in a way that makes Miles’ skin crawl.

     Or maybe that unease stems from the fact that the reporter is also looking at his own corpse. It’s on the ground, just behind the fishbowl, as limp and lifeless as a ragdoll dropped from the top of a staircase by a particularly uncaring child. The face is turned away and Miles finds it in himself to be grateful for that much.

Keep reading

[walriding]

#poe dameron, a not so serious character study

[walriding]

Dancing Through Life has a certain miles vibe about it……… not necessarily for the “haha no brain” lyrics (although they are not. completely irrelevant) but mostly for the charisma / could charm the pants off a table energy

[walriding]

@styxisms asked: 5 for spotify from Sable lol spotify wrapped meme || accepting #5 -- Night Springs; by Alan Wake Keira 'Cause in Night Springs, we're just looking for the thrill All your nightmares come true

Whatever's going on here, Miles really doesn't think it's his problem. It's outside the bounds of how Murkoff usually operates -- they're more about underground facilities and shady science that suburban legends. But, still, he's curious. Disappearances, spooky sightings. After the catastrophic success of their last supernatural project, they're looking for the next best thing. He knows that much. And a place like this, a place that feels like it's resting on the nexus of unseen fault lines...

Well, it's the kind of place they might want to look. Which means Miles wants to beat them to it.

Cursory research hasn't yielded much. Someone's got every useful book on local history checked out from the library, and whatever he can find online is spotty at best. There was a recent disappearance but coverage is sparse, and it's difficult to discern how much anyone believes it in the first place. A magic trick gone wrong. Not exactly solid starting grounds. He has other methods of investigation at his disposal, of course, but isn't eager to use them in circumstances that don't call for bloodshed. Overkill would be putting it mildly, so he resolves to do this the old fashioned way. A little b&e never hurt anybody.

He knows the minute he's in the building that he isn't alone. Call it extrasensory perception -- or call it a perfectly human amount of perception based on the jimmied lock that greets him. It could be anyone, and he has to remind both himself and the thing that is not himself that whoever it is might not be an immediate danger. Still, he treads carefully, making as little noise as he's able to. But when he rounds a corner and catches sight of someone else, he has to bite his tongue to hold back a curse.

The wisest thing to do is back away quietly in the direction he came and chalk this up to the wrong night for digging. Which is exactly what he tries to do, until his foot catches on something that grinds between his heel and the floor with a sharp, metallic sound. So much for subtle.

[walriding]

The Dies Irae...You called us that before. You said that was our… title. What does it mean? Day of Wrath.

Why is that our title? You will see.

Indie Arthur Lester & John Doe, written by Veri

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“ Do you have any idea what 10 years in here can do to a person? The building chose me. Not you.“

Demons in the walls Demons in the halls Demons in my mind Demons you will find.

Indie Lance Preston & Azathoth captured by veri

[ death awaits]

[walriding]

sorry for showing up here again and then not really doing anything about it oops. been hit with a combo of holiday business + general brain things being uhhhhh Not Great but. gonna try to pick at replies and such this weekend. hopefully.

[walriding]

Don't hurt me.

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i think im an idiot

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no your honor I absolutely can make my case like an adult. first things first, fuck the defendant and fuck his family too. secondly,

[walriding]

family holiday party fit check. keep cthulhu in christmas

[walriding]

—Fyodor Dostoevsky

[walriding]

spotify wrapped has arrived. send me a number from 1-100 for a starter based on that song, or a lyric from it, or send a 🎁 for me to shuffle.

[walriding]

me when i think about miles for more than six seconds and all of my overcooked brainrot comes flooding back before i can fight it back down