#design vision sorting machine

[intsofttech]

Intsoft Tech inspection machine application in pharmaceutical industry

[johnlocsin-johnyakuza]

Ever stopped to think about how terrifying Super Earth and The Helldivers must be from the enemies perspective?

Even though the game is satire, Super Earth and, most specifically, The Helldivers, are genuinely kind of terrifying when you see them from the enemy's POV. Not only do you have this massive galactic empire who took out a hyper-advanced race a century ago in the First Galactic War using considerably less advanced technology, but the same hyper-advanced race is finally back trying to square up against us again and getting their ass beat, all while our technology hasn't changed much since the first war. All of this because we are simply just too goddamn patriotic to our home planet to lose it. Our strongest weapon is literally our determination and devotion to Super Earth.

Think about it. You are an Automaton facing down a Helldiver. You ambush them from behind and blast a laser into their back. Without missing a beat, they jump forward, turn 180 degrees and pop you in the chest with their Senator. As you fall to the ground with your vision getting static-y and your systems shutting down, you see them stand up, stick a needle into their neck and shout "MY LIFE FOR SUPER EARTH!" as they sprint off unfazed to a random direction.

The Helldivers, despite how much Arrowhead seems to have wanted to make us look like glorified red shirts, are genuinely an elite force compared to standard SEAF troops.

Let's summarize this:

* We can handle multiple different types of weapons extremely proficiently, including being accurate while running AND diving to the ground, two things that are extremely difficult to do in real life.

* We can sprint for fourty minutes almost non-stop for multiple miles and back to complete our missions, not to mention do a variety of different moves that show off our agility such as the aforementioned diving but also sliding on the floor and climbing large surfaces.

* We can be set on fire, blown up, shot, fall from great heights and suffer multiple different types of terrifying injuries but not only manage to keep our cool but also recover from said injuries using simply some sort of highly-advanced "medicinal" drug that lets us keep fighting like nothing happened.

* A team of four is all that's required to be sent behind enemy lines to perform highly dangerous suicide missions that involve destroying enemy logistics, recovering intel and other types of sabotage in the style of WW2 Paratroopers. Keep in mind these missions are usually not done stealthfully at all and we're often fighting off entire BATTALLIONS of enemies that could easily crush any other 4-man squad. But not the Helldivers. The mental fortitude required to not cave in this sort of situation has to be extremely strong (and patriotic).

* Despite suffering major losses on multiple planets, we are still by all means winning the war and causing major damage to 3 different enemy factions. In one year, we have already killed BILLIONS of enemies on three fronts which is vastly more than our own number of KIA divers (though for full transparency, it is likely many more humans have died whether them being civilians our unseen SEAF personnel, but their numbers are unknown).

* Overzealously brain-dead fanatics, who not only lack fear of death but actively embrace it. (From a militaristic perspective, this is incredibly strong to the point of being absurd. Think of unbreakable units in Total War. All for Super Earth!)

* Exceptionally efficient killing machines. (Their flawless handling of both weapons and equipment suggests they've been trained from a very young age.)

* Access to top-tier technology designed to be both highly reliable and cost-effective. (You can literally drop a bomb on their gear, and it will still function perfectly. They just leave it behind and request a replacement like it's nothing.)

* Complete dehumanization of the enemy due to relentless propaganda. (With constant broadcasts and a star destroyer-sized screen blasting their ideals, even during downtime, they're never free from it.)

* An auto-regulating regime that enforces and encourages constant surveillance among individuals, making the populace their own "prisoners and wardens." (Ties back to the previous point.)

* Absolute obedience and fanaticism from both military and civilian sectors, ensuring a continuous flow of soldiers-whether motivated by "faith" or fear. (Again, see previous points.)

* A completely unstoppable war machine that will keep throwing bodies at you. No matter how many you kill, they'll keep diving. Again... and again... and again... and again...

In short…

BUGS, BOTS, SQUIDS, WE MUST KILL THEM ALL!

LEAVE NO ONE ALIVE!

BURN THEM TO THE GROUND AND SALT THE EARTH!

MY LIFE FOR SUPER EARTH!

Don't let the dissidents fool you into believing The Helldivers are just expendable fools who don't last long in the battlefield. If that were true, we would not be causing as much damage as we are now. Even with our heavy losses, each death is the torch of freedom passed from one soul to the next, be their survival time a mere 10 seconds or an outstanding 40 minutes. Democracy is smiling to us from the skies above and we are doing it proud!

[seat-safety-switch]

"Hold on there, pardner. This here's a cognition hazard." said the holographic cowboy in the corner of my vision. He then took a series of poses that the designer must have thought looked heroic and protective, before flickering back to his original position and repeating the process. My artificial ranch-hand was not incorrect: the thing I was attempting to do would cause me unpredictable amounts of psychic damage, likely impacting my relationships with those around me and even my mental state at rest. Even so, I pushed the button and waited.

Software development used to be a sort of reckless task, undergone without care. Decades ago, hundreds of folks would cram themselves into a single building and then work hard on their computers to develop computer programs. Originally, these programs performed useful but difficult tasks, speeding them up dramatically for the varied needs of government and industry. At first, life improved. And then, as with every prior machine in human history, we looked for harder jobs for it to do.

A funny thing happens when a computer program gets longer than about a page of typewritten code. You have to hold a lot of it in your head. The best programmers could commit an entire system to memory, gliding through it like barracuda through a disreputable motel's swimming pool. We didn't know then how much trauma it caused. The doctors had no idea what was happening with all those isolated burnouts freaking out, moving into the woods, and hunting men for sport.

Watching the old newsreels now, seeing the 20th-century equivalent of coal miners delving willingly into fold-out charts of MFC inheritance diagrams, it's a little hard to stomach. It only took about twenty years of continued exposure to this kind of thing before the human mind rebelled, the manmade logical constructs providing a kind of sharp edge that ripped through sanity like a hot wire. Thing is, it still had to be done, and the folks who did it seemed to enjoy it up until The Void caught up to them too. So the government did what the government does best, and compromise. We'd all have warnings that what we were doing was insanely dangerous and life-shortening, and our employers would keep demanding that we heap more complexity atop ever-increasing mountains of irreducible cruft.

A good deal for all involved, especially the folks who got the contract to make the warning holograms about fifteen years ago. They must have loved their jobs, putting the little cowboy hats on them. You can tell in all the little complex details of his haunted face, begging me to turn back from my route to oblivion. One day I'd like to make something cool like that.

[redvexillum]

My momma always told me, you either leave the fandom or stay long enough to write a selfcest fanfiction of a character. She was right. All joking aside...I...I'm actually sort of proud of how this one turned out? If ya'll can give this crack request story a chance, I would appreciate it.

TAGS/WARNINGS: selfc♡st, fr♡ttage, mild dub-c♡n, an♡l s♡x, ♡ral s♡x, character study, mild hurt/comfort, m♡sturbation(?)

WORD COUNT: 5K~

Lucifer stared at his reflection – or, well, the figure that was almost his reflection. It was unnerving, seeing himself like that, a perfect replica, standing there as casually as if he belonged. He had been tinkering with one of his many bizarre contraptions – this one, an overly complicated machine designed to spit out custom-dressed rubber ducks because, why not?  

But after one too many turns of doodads and doohickeys, what had emerged wasn’t a novelty toy, but him. A carbon copy. And now, that copy was glaring back at him, looking far less impressed.  

“So...do I kill you, or do you kill me?” the clone drawled, eyes narrowing in irritation. His voice dripped with impatience, as if this situation was nothing more than a tedious inconvenience.  

Lucifer raised his hands, laughing nervously. “Woah, woah! Hold up!” He tugged at the lapels of his jacket, his chin jutting forward proudly. “First off, I am the original,” he declared, head held high. “So, if anyone’s doing the killing here–” 

Suddenly, a sharp, searing pain knifed through his gut. He doubled over, gasping, his hands instinctively clutching his abdomen. “Oh, fuck me!” he rasped, struggling to catch his breath. “Why do I feel like I’m about to both combust and take the world’s biggest shit at the same time?!”  

The clone snorted, unimpressed. Rolling his eyes, he lazily rested a hand on the apple-topped staff at his side. “Isn’t it obvious?” he said with a tone of smugness, leaning against the staff like he was lounging on a park bench. “Only one of us can exist on this plane at a time,” 

Lucifer grimaced, his vision blurred by pain, as he glared up at his double. “Oh, that’s fucking helpful!” he barked, breathless. “How the hell was I supposed to know that?!” 

“Well,” the clone continued, ignoring Lucifer’s frustration, “I think we both know what has to happen.” There was a calmness in his voice, a decision made. Slowly, methodically, he began to shrug off his outer coat. “We need to–” 

“Kill,” Lucifer groaned.  

“Fuck,” the clone corrected.  

Lucifer wheezed, his entire body feeling like it was deflating. His mouth twisted into a forced smile, desperate for clarity. “Okay, okay, wait.” He chuckled weakly, rubbing his forehead. “When you say fuck...do you mean like, fuck as in kill, or...?” His voice trailed off as he glanced nervously at his copy.  

The grin that spread across the clone’s face was infuriatingly familiar – the same cocky smirk Lucifer hadn’t seen on his own face in years. It was unsettling how confidently his reflection seemed to own the moment. “No, no,” the clone said, voice dropping to a silky tone. “We are going to have the best sex of our life.” 

Without hesitation, the clone threw his top aside, his bare chest gleaming under the dim lighting as it hit the floor with a soft thud. Lucifer stared, wide-eyed, torn between disbelief and the undeniable, absurd pull of the moment.  

“Y-you don’t find this weird?” Lucifer stammered, stepping back slightly, his spine still curled inward, his stomach churning with a discomfort he hadn’t felt in eons. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing to make sense of what was happening. Sexual gratification had been the furthest thing from his mind ever since...ever since Lilith had left. 

Left him.  

Left Charlie.  

The void she left behind still gnawed at him, hollow and aching.  

His clone, though identical in appearance, stood with an unsettling confidence – shoulders back, head high, eyes blazing with the kind of self-assurance Lucifer hadn’t felt in what seemed like a lifetime ago. He looked...powerful. Like the Lucifer of old, the one who once stood in Heaven, who knew without a doubt that the world was his, who believed in his bones that anything he desired was within his grasp. Seeing this version of himself now was both infuriating and intoxicating.  

“Listen,” the clone purred, his red pupils glittering with amusement. “This is basically masturbation.” His voice was silk, laced with cruel teasing. “Which I’m sure we’re very familiar with, considering that’s all you’ve been doing ever since our sweet, lovely wife left us.” 

Heat exploded across Lucifer’s cheeks; a hot, embarrassed flush that made him grit his teeth. “Hey!” he snapped, but his protest died in his throat. He couldn’t deny it. Hell, this was a conversation about himself, after all – his clone knew everything about him, every dark, shameful secret.  

The clone straightened up, his smirk deepening. “Right now, our soul is split in two. It’s warring with itself because this–” he gestured grandly down his body. “–is unnatural. Souls aren’t meant to be divided like this.” 

Lucifer’s shoulders slumped, the weight of his clone’s words pressing down on him. His fingers fidgeted with the smooth surface of his staff, his mind trying to latch onto anything other than the situation before him. “So...you thought the solution was to fuck until our souls...merged?” His voice cracked, half-disbelieving, half-hopeful.  

“Bingo!” The clone chuckled, his grin only growing as he began to undo the button of his pants with casual confidence. “Besides,” he added with a mischievous glint in his eye, “if it doesn’t work, at least we’ll both get to reach the heavens.” His eyebrows waggled suggestively, and his forked tongue flicked out from his lips in a teasing gesture.  

Lucifer grimaced, his stomach tightening with nerves. His eyes darted involuntarily over his clone’s body, and suddenly, he became painfully aware of his own form. It had been centuries since he had looked at himself bare – really looked. The sight of his clone now, so perfectly him and yet not, was jarring in a way that twisted his insides.  

“Ugh, that’s...that’s...,” Lucifer muttered, his gaze shifting awkwardly. His self-consciousness gnawed at him, a raw vulnerability that was difficult to swallow.  

“Hey, don’t act so shy now,” the clone cooed, his voice dripping with a smugness that Lucifer hated to recognize in himself. “That’s the same line we used on Lilith when we first made love to her.” With a single fluid motion, the clone let his pants drop, his cock hanging uncut and unaroused, swaying with a casual confidence that only heightened Lucifer’s unease.  

“Woah, woah, hey, now!” Lucifer blurted, stepping back, his eyes flicking between his clone’s cock and the infuriatingly cocky grin on his face. “Again, how exactly is fucking supposed to merge our souls back together?” 

His clone shrugged, taking a step forward, completely unbothered. “I dunno,” he said with an exaggerated nonchalance. “Maybe when we both reach ecstasy, our souls will resonate, vibrate, and then, bam, they’ll fuse back together. After all,” he added with a theatrical sweep of his arms, “God did give us these bodies for a reason. Pleasure, procreation – this is the ultimate gift to humanity! To enjoy and, of course, multiply!” 

The clone’s voice was all show, his arms raised dramatically like some kind of divine preacher. But there was a glimmer in his eyes – something dark, something knowing – that made Lucifer’s skin prickle with an undeniable mix of dread and curiosity.  

Lucifer frowned, his brows knitting together, confused. Something about the situation – about the words his clone had said – felt off. Deep down, a nagging sense of dread tugged at him, though he couldn’t quite place why. Before he could puzzle it out, he jolted at the sudden warmth of his cheek.  

His eyes darted up, meeting his own reflection. But it wasn’t just the unnerving intimacy of having his clone caress his face – it was the startling realization that the twisting pain in his gut had vanished, as if it had never been there at all.  

“Looks like I might be onto something,” his clone murmured, fingers already deftly working at Lucifer’s bow tie, loosening it with ease. Then came the buttons, each one undone with deliberate slowness.  

“W-wait,” Lucifer stammered, a surge of awkwardness and outright discomfort pounding in his chest. This wasn’t right – none of this was right. But when his clone’s fingers brushed against the bare skin of his chest, Lucifer felt a jolt – his nerves sparking with an odd, pleasant warmth that made his breath hitch.  

“Oh, fuck. What the fuck is happening?” Lucifer gasped, his body betraying him. There was a strange sense of completeness now, as though the fractures within him, the things that had felt so wrong and broken, were beginning to knit back together.  

“Told you so,” the clone said, smirking with that insufferably cocky tilt of his brow. His lips curved upward in a grin that made Lucifer’s stomach turned with unease. “Now, let’s get this show started.” 

Lucifer stood there, frozen, watching as his replica continued to undress, each piece of clothing discarded methodically. The pants came off easily, unbuttoned and unzipped in a single fluid motion before being kicked aside.  

Now, they stood face to face, naked and exposed, and for a moment, it was like staring into a mirror. Every inch of his clone’s body was a perfect reflection of his own – yet, it was the confidence, the smugness in the clone’s posture that set them worlds apart.  

“L-listen,” Lucifer mumbled, his shoulders tensing as they rose toward his ears. He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the lump of unease forming in his throat. “C-could you, I don’t know, shape-shift into someone else? Maybe it’d be easier to...ya know,” he trailed off, awkwardly circling his hand as his eyes flicked down to his own limp cock and them back to his clone’s. “And, uh, can I top? Not that I can’t take it, but I just...I prefer–” 

His clone let out a heavy sigh, cocking his head to the side as if he were disappointed by Lucifer’s hesitation.  “You seriously don’t feel it?” he asked, his voice dripping with impatience.  

Lucifer blinked, confusion settling deeper into his mind. Slowly, he reached inward, trying to gather his magic, to summon that familiar surge of power – but nothing happened. His breath hitched in his throat, eyes widening in panic. “Holy fu–” 

“Yep,” the clone interrupted, popping the “p” with a smug satisfaction. “You can’t access your magic. That’s because our soul is still split, dumbass.” 

Lucifer’s heart raced, the weight of the situation settling heavily onto his shoulders. For the first time, he felt the gravity of what was happening. He wasn’t just losing control – he had lost it. The realization made his stomach churn, but there was no turning back now.  

“Now that we’re on the same page about how serious this is,” the clone grinned, his teeth gleaming a pearly white that somehow made him appear even more unsettling. His expression was everything Lucifer wasn’t - confident, boisterous, and utterly sure of himself. It was a mockery of everything Lucifer had once been, and it made his skin crawl with unease. “Let’s fuck.” 

Lucifer swallowed hard, staring into his clone’s eyes, feeling a sick sense of inevitability creeping up on him. He wasn’t sure if he could go through with this – or if he even had a choice anymore.  

Lucifer lay on the bed, his body tense and awkward, his tail coiled tightly around his left leg like a lifeline, a small attempt at self-soothing. He felt exposed – no, worse than that. He felt like a blushing virgin, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t been in millennia. 

His hands instinctively covered his chest, as though that would somehow shield him from the surreal reality he was trapped in. His cock hung half-flaccid, a humiliating reminder of his physical reaction to something he desperately wished he didn’t want.  

His clone’s hand drifted up and down Lucifer’s abdomen, knuckles brushing the sensitive skin just below his navel, occasionally grazing the tip of his cock. Each fleeting touch sent shivers up Lucifer’s spine, and despite the disgust and shame swirling inside him, he couldn’t stop his body from responding. His cock hardened, growing with each touch, betraying the war raging in his mind.  

Lucifer squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it all out. Shame burned through him like acid. How had it come to this? He was fucking his own clone. What kind of pathetic, twisted man had he become? 

What would Lilith say? The thought pierced through him like a dagger, and his heart clenched in pain. He could picture her now, her back turned to him, disgust etched into her face. She had always known his weakness, his flaws, but this – this was something else entirely. What would she think of him now?

What would Charlie think? His little girl – so full of light, so distant now. They barely spoke anymore. When they did, it was stilted, cold, and brief. She had left home centuries ago, and every passing year felt like another knife twisting in his gut. If she knew what he was doing right now, she wouldn’t just turn her back on him – she would hate him. 

A wave of loneliness crashed over him, and Lucifer’s heart sank. If only Lilith were here, none of this would be happening. Maybe he wouldn’t be alone. Maybe he’d still have his family.  

“Hey!” His clone’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Lucifer’s eyes flew open, his chest tightening in shock. His clone was holding his limp cock in his hand, its size reduced to something small, shrunken, and powerless. “Seriously?” the clone huffed in annoyance, dropping Lucifer’s cock as if it were nothing. “It’s like you don’t want to fix this.” 

Lucifer blinked, startled by the casual frustration in his own voice. The clone collapsed beside him on the bed, his back hitting the mattress with a lazy thud, folding his hands behind his head. “Well, I guess both of us are just going to cease to exist then. Painfully, I might add.” He paused, glancing at Lucifer with a knowing smirk. “And we’ll be leaving our girl behind.” 

Lucifer’s heart stopped for a moment. Then anger surged through him like a wildfire, scorching the shame and hesitation out of his chest. “Take that back,” he growled, sitting up, his fists clenching at his sides. “I’m going to be with my little girl for the rest of eternity.” He wanted to say that Charlie needed him, but deep down, he knew the truth – he needed her.  

The clone fell silent, his cocky grin faltering for the first time. For a brief moment, something softened in his expression, the sharp edges of his usual bravado dulling. “I know,” he said quietly. And of course, he knew. He washim, after all. He understood that deep, aching loneliness better than anyone.  

Lucifer’s breath caught; the room filled with an uncomfortable silence. He watched, still tense, as his clone snapped his fingers and slipped off the bed. Lucifer furrowed his brows, his eyes narrowing as he watched the bare backside of his clone exit the room. A strange sense of foreboding curled in his gut, but he couldn’t have guessed what was coming next.  

When his clone reappeared, Lucifer’s eyes widened in sheer horror. “Oh, hell no!” he yelled, sitting up straight in the bed, his nose wrinkling in disgust.  

His clone stood before him, draped in one of Lilith’s old purple dresses, the very sight of it sending a wave of nausea rolling through Lucifer. The dress – once regal and commanding on Lilith – was ill-fitting on his clone. It hung awkwardly off his frame, too long and dragging on the floor, with the chest sagging low enough to reveal his nipples. It was a mockery, and Lucifer couldn’t tear his eyes away.  

“What?” his clone asked, dragging the hem of the dress along the ground as he clambered back onto the bed. Lucifer immediately crossed his arms over his chest, looking away, his face twisted in revulsion.  

“Don’t be such a hypocrite,” the clone scoffed, rolling his eyes. “After Lilith left, you literally fucked your hand while smothering your face in her clothes.” 

Lucifer’s breath hitched, his mind reeling. He could feel the humiliation crashing over him like a tidal wave. His clone knew everything. Every shameful, pathetic moment. And now, dressed in Lilith’s gown, his clone was dragging him through the mud, forcing him to confront his deepest shame.  

It was too much, Lucifer clenched his jaw, trying to push back the flood of emotions rising inside him. But he couldn’t - because every word, every mocking gesture, was true.  

Lucifer’s shoulders sagged, the weight of those words pressing down on him like a heavy fog. His eyes stung with the threat of tears, but he quickly blinked them away, unwilling to let them fall. It had been hard enough, those dark nights after Lilith had left without so much as a goodbye.  

The days blurred into week, then months, until centuries have long gone by. Charlie had asked where her mother was, and Lucifer had found himself spinning hollow lies after lies. “She’s off doing important things,” he would say, his voice faltering. He never could come up with something more substantial – just the vague notion of “important” being all he had to offer.  

And poor Charlie believed him, trusted her father’s words when Lucifer slowly sank into a dark spiral. The pain gnawed at him, and day by day, he closed off his heart to everything that once mattered. He had locked himself away, isolated, while his daughter’s belief in him, in them, lingered like an unbearable weight.  

Lucifer shook his head, physically trying to shove those thoughts back down into the depths of his mind where they belonged. He couldn’t afford to think about that right now. He had to face what was in front of him – himself.“Alright, let’s just get this over with,” he muttered, his voice strained.  

His clone cocked an eyebrow, smirking. “Geez, don’t sound too eager,” he mocked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “And here I went, dressing up nice and pretty for you.” 

Lucifer rolled his eyes, the familiar sting of frustration bubbling up. “You’re such an ass.” He paused, realizing the irony – that all his insults were essentially directed at himself. His clone’s smirk only widened in response to Lucifer’s damning realization. 

“Relax,” his clone sighed, the weight of the moment shifting as he leaned forward, the bed creaking beneath him. He straddled Lucifer’s hips, the long dress pooling awkwardly around them, one sleeve slipping off his shoulder in a parody of seduction. “Let’s just do what we always do.” 

Lucifer swallowed hard, his throat tightening as he felt the warmth of his clone’s body settle on top of him. It was strange – unnerving – but grounding in a way. The warmth, the weight, it made it all feel too real.  

His clone pressed his hard cock against Lucifer’s, and the contact sent a ripple of heat down his spine. A hand planted itself beside Lucifer’s head as his clone leaned down, his breath brushing his ear. “Close your eyes,” he whispered, and Lucifer listened, squeezing them shut.  

A slow exhalation escaped him as he let his hands rest at his sides, the tension is his body slowly easing. He felt the blood pooling between his legs, rushing to his cock, filling him with a familiar heat he hadn’t felt in so long. His clone’s voice came again, softer this time. “Just focus on feeling good.” 

Lucifer shivered as his clone’s hand wrapped around both their cocks, the sensation of their skin sliding together igniting something deep within him. He let out a shaky moan, his body betraying the shame that still clawed at the edges of his mind. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to feel like this – to indulge in something that wasn’t soaked in guilt or regret.  

This is just masturbation, he told himself, nothing more than that.  

In the darkness behind his closed eyes, Lucifer focused on the feel of their bodies pressed together. The heat of his clone’s cock, the hard, throbbing shaft rubbing against his own. His clone moved slowly, gliding up and down, the sensitive ridges of their heads catching against each other in a way that made Lucifer’s breath hitch. Every touch, every movement was fire burning on his skin.  

“Oh...” Lucifer moaned, his head falling back into the pillow. “This feels really good,” he whispered, the words slipping out unbidden, soft and full of need.  

His clone stayed silent, his hips rocking steadily, methodically. But then, unexpectedly, he stopped. Lucifer’s eyes fluttered open just as he felt a sharp tug on his tail. Pain and pleasure crashed together, sending a shock through his body. “Oh, fuck!” he gasped, his hips jerking forward as a bead of pre-cum dripped from the tip of his cock.  

His clone shifted lower, settling between Lucifer’s legs. His cock jutted out, red-tipped and aching, and Lucifer’s breath hitched again as his clone lowered his head. The forked tongue slipped from his clone’s lips, teasing the slit of Lucifer’s cock, dipping just slightly into the sensitive opening before swirling around the shaft. The sensation was maddening, the wet heat of his tongue sending Lucifer spiralling further into pleasure.  

Lucifer’s chest heaved, his fingers clenching at the sheets beneath him as the world around him faded away, leaving nothing but the intense, unbearable feeling of his clone’s mouth on him.  

With a soft moan, Lucifer’s clone took him deeper, enveloping the length of his cock in the wet, tight heat of his mouth. The slurping, obscene noises filled the room, echoing the rhythmic sounds of pleasure.  

Lucifer’s hips trembled, the desperate urge to thrust upward nearly overwhelming him as the sensation of his dick being sucked, and his balls gently fondled took him over. It had been so long – too long since he felt anything like this.  

“Oh, fuuuck,” Lucifer groaned, his voice thick with lust, barely able to string the words together. “Oh, fuck, so good...ah, fuck...I could...I could do this forever,” he whimpered, his control slipping away entirely.  

A sharp tug on his tail sent a fresh wave of heat surging through him, driving him closer to the edge. His entire body tensed, hips twitching upward, seeking more.  

But then, just as he felt himself teetering near the brink of release, the warm, wet sensation disappeared. Lucifer whimpered as his cock slipped free from his clone’s mouth, slick and throbbing, twitching in the air as he watched through pleasure-hazed eyes.  

His clone spit on him, thick strings of saliva drenching his cock, glistening and dripping as Lucifer’s breath hitched in his throat. The sight of it, the feel of it, was maddening.  

His clone moved with purpose, stripping off Lilith’s old dress in one fluid motion and pressing it against Lucifer’s face. The fabric was worn, the scent long faded, but the texture was enough to flood him with memories of Lilith – moments when they were still a family, still whole.  

His breath hitched again as the tight, hot sensation of his clone’s body enveloped his dick. Both of them moaned in unison, the feeling almost unbearable in its intensity.  

The dress slipped down from Lucifer’s face, and through one half-lidded eye, he watched himself – his clone – riding him, bouncing on his cock with a smooth, fluid motion. Pre-cum dripped from his clone’s own throbbing erection, every downward thrust sending pleasure coursing through Lucifer’s veins. The mix of his own spit and the warm, tight heat made each movement feel decadent, sinful, and utterly overwhelming.  

“Oh, shit, I’m gonna come,” Lucifer gasped, his hands gripping the blanket as he buried his face into the fabric of Lilith’s dress, the scent and feel of it sending his mind spiralling into the past.  

He pretended, if only for a moment, that it was her – her body he was inside, her warmth he was losing himself to. “Lilith, fuck...Lilith,” he moaned, his voice cracking as tears welled up in his eyes. He squeezed them shut, trying to conjure her face, her presence, the way she had once made him feel whole.  

His clone wasn’t stopping, wasn’t slowing. The movements grew more intense, and with another sharp tug on Lucifer’s tail, his body jerked, arching uncontrollably as the sensation ripped through him. The shaft of his tail slipped between his balls, sending sharp electric shocks of pleasure up his spine. “I’m gonna come... oh, honey, I–” His voice broke as he cried out, “I love you; I love you, Lily!” The nickname tumbled from his lips, raw and vulnerable, a name he hadn't dared utter in centuries.  

With a final thrust, Lucifer’s body tensed, his cock throbbing violently as he released inside his clone. Hot, milky seed spilled out, his hips jerking helplessly as the tight walls around him squeezed, milking every drop of his orgasm. The intensity of it left him breathless, his body trembling as waves of pleasure washed over him in relentless bursts.  

When the haze of his climax began to fade, Lucifer opened his eyes, panting heavily. His eyes fell on his clone, now slumped over him, their breaths mingling in the space between them.  

For the first time, in the daze of post-orgasmic bliss, the pain that had clawed at his soul for so long felt muted, distant. His chest still ached, but it was dulled, the sharp edges softened.  

It was only then that Lucifer noticed the sticky warmth coating his torso. His clone had finished too, his seed splattered across Lucifer’s chest and the dress, ruining it with their release. Slowly, his clone leaned forward, their faces close, mirroring each other in a strange, intimate silence.  

In a way, his clone had been right. For just this moment, the jagged, hollow incompleteness inside Lucifer was quieted.  

As the clone began to fade, his form becoming more transparent with every passing second, he spoke with softness that felt like a balm for Lucifer’s aching soul. “It’s okay to miss her,” the clone murmured, his forehead resting gently against Lucifer’s. The words felt like a distant echo, resonating in the deepest part of him. “It’s okay to be sad, to be confused, to be hurt.” 

Lucifer could only stare, his reflection looking back at him – his own voice giving life to the words he long buried, the truths he had tried to ignore. The sound of it, the sincerity, was almost unbearable.  

“It’s okay to have days when you hate yourself and days when you love yourself,” the clone continued, his body growing lighter and lighter, as if slipping away with each breath. His eyes closed, and Lucifer noticed just how fragile his clone had become. “But don’t lose sight of what you have now. You haven’t lost everything, and nothing is ever too late.” 

Lucifer’s lips quivered, his chest tightening with a raw emotion he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in eons. His hands trembled by his sides, frozen in place, as his eyes began to sting, his throat tightening painfully. His voice cracked, barely a whisper. “How do you know I haven’t lost everything?” The floodgates opened, and the vulnerability poured out like a torrent. “My wife left me. Charlie won’t even look at me. I created this awful place because of my foolish dream...so...” he took in a shuddering breath, “h-how could you say that?” 

For the first time in centuries, Lucifer felt his heart split wide open, the weight of the pain he had been carrying for so long threatening to crush him. The depressive cloud that had suffocated him for so long was lifting, revealing the gaping wound beneath. “You don’t know a single thing,” he whispered, his voice trembling, on the edge of breaking entirely.  

The clone’s eyes fluttered open, but now Lucifer could see right through him – his body almost entirely transparent, as if he was a shadow of a memory. “I know that Charlie is still here,” the clone said softly. “I know that I love my daughter very much, that I would do anything for her.” His voice was steady, filled with conviction, as he reached up and placed a fading hand on Lucifer’s shoulder. “And hey, she’s my little girl, my whole world. So, I would say I still have everything within my reach.” 

That smile – the one Lucifer hadn’t seen on his own face in what felt like a lifetime – flashed across the clone’s face, bright and filled with hope. “I just need to reach for her, and I know she’ll accept me. I know because I’m you, dummy.” His voice was so gentle, and yet it pierced through every barrier Lucifer had built around his heart.  

With those final words, the clone dissipated into nothing, vanishing like smoke, leaving Lucifer alone in the room. But as his mirror image faded, Lucifer felt something begin to mend inside of him – a slow, painful process as his soul tried to stitch itself back together.  

Yet, even as he felt a sense of repair, his chest ached with an unbearable weight, a heaviness that pressed down on him like a physical force.  

A tear slipped down his cheek, and with it came a broken, self-deprecating laugh that echoed through the empty space. He was still draped in Lilith’s old dress, his body bare beneath the fabric, his torso sticky with his own release. The absurdity of it all hit him at once, and he laughed – laughed until the sound turned into a sob.  

He had turned his back on his greatest fear for so long, choosing the safety of solitude over the vulnerability of facing what truly terrified him; his own heartbreak. For centuries, it had been easier to shut himself away, to protect his fragile ego, to numb himself to the pain. But now, in the quiet aftermath of everything, he realized that his heart had been breaking all along.  

Every day he spent alone, every day he pretended that he didn’t care, it shattered just a little more.  

The tears came in waves, and he let them. He cried for all that he had lost, for the family he had once had, for the years of silence that had driven him deeper into his own despair. But he also cried because, for the first time, he understood that he hadn’t lost everything. Not yet.  

There was still time.  

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[super-ion]

The Voyages of the Padua

Chapter 3

(1, 2)

Maybe the security bots anticipated that she would just lay down and surrender. Maybe they anticipated her trying to run away.

What they did not anticipate was her hurling herself at them with all the rage of a trapped animal.

Somehow in her panicked flight, she had held on to the wrench. It was heavy and solid and she brought it down in an arc on the wrists of the closest of the two bots. Metal and composite cracked and twisted under the blow and its gun clattered to the floor.

Its companion fired off a shot that barely missed her. The crackling energy bolt raised the hairs on the back of her neck, singing more than a few stray strands.

She delivered a kick to the knee of the one she had already struck and it staggered, then she threw herself at its companion with a wordless scream. The wrench connected with the head, shattering the blank faceplate. The neck bent at an odd angle and it went down in a twitching heap.

The first one was still regaining its balance when she rammed the butt of the wrench into its neck. It staggered once more and she struck again. And again.

“P-L-SE CMP-LY-” it said in a garbled distorted voice.

She struck it a final time and something important went crunch. It collapsed to its knees and made an indecipherable utterance before collapsing to the floor.

The whole encounter had lasted maybe a few seconds and she stood there panting as her brain tried to catch up.

Then something red flashed in her peripheral vision. She lashed out blindly, swinging the wrench wildly in that direction.

“Whoa!” someone shouted.

The wrench connected with a loud CLANK and rebounded with a painful vibration that went up her arm. Whatever this was, it wasn't going to crumple like the security bots.

She readied another strike.

“Hey!” the same someone shouted. “Hey wait!”

She swung again, but something caught it mid strike.

“Hey, can you stop!?”

She blinked, her panicked ferocity fading back to a more familiar sense of panicked foreboding.

Gripping the haft of the wrench was a hand with scuffed silver white metallic skin and black mechanical joints. The hand connected to an arm which in turn connected to a person… well, it was another android, but it did also seem to be a person.

The face was human, somewhat feminine, and made of the sort of opaque composite capable of emulating a wide array of facial expressions. Lightly glowing blue eyes regarded her with some concern.

The current expression was somewhere between concern and annoyance.

“I'm not with them,” the android said. “I'm not going to hurt you. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“Alright,” the android replied.

The luminescent blue eyes flicked to where both of their hands still gripped the haft of the wrench.

She let go of the wrench and and staggered back. The android made a small noise of approval.

Had she seen androids before? Obviously the security bots were technically androids and she wasn't caught completely off guard by their existence. But the security bots were about as different as possible from the person in front of her.

Aside from the very human looking expression, which was now edging into matronly concern, this one was also wearing clothes. A well worn duster jacket covered a red shirt patterned with tropical flowers and khaki pants (safe also noted the gun belt and holster with some apprehension). Then there was the hair, a sort of purple black, cropped close to the head and messy in a way that seemed intentional. The whole ensemble was clearly designed to convey a sense of identity. This was definitely more than just a machine and don't you dare forget that.

“Are you alright?” the android asked calmly.

“Yeah, I… think so.”

“What's your name?”

“I… I don't know,” she replied.

The android raised her eyebrows dubiously and her eyes darted to the patch on the woman's chest.

Oh right, she was wearing Cassidy’s jumpsuit.

She was quivering slightly now. The crash really wasn't that far off now, was it?

Gods, she was a mess. What a first impression this was.

“My name is Aela,” the android explained slowly, calmly. “I'm captain of the Padua. We received a distress call and came to investigate. Where is the rest of the crew?”

“Nobody was here when I woke up,” she replied with a helpless shrug. “I don't really… I don't know what's going on.”

Should she have admitted that? Could she even trust this stranger? She wanted to. The android seemed kind and had the bearing of someone who was used to taking charge of a situation.

She so desperately wanted someone else to take charge of the situation.

Before the android captain Aela could ask any more questions, they were interrupted by the sound of running footsteps coming down the corridor.

The person who rounded the corner was short, nearly a full head shorter than the captain. They were dressed in a close fitting suit, finely tailored and sturdy as far as she could tell, with all manner of high tech devices strapped to their person. Long hair was tied back, expertly braided, and an impeccably trimmed goatee framed their chin.

She supposed it was meant to be sophisticated and dapper, but the entire effect was ruined as they approached, red faced from the exertion of running, and doubled over panting.

“Cap'n!” the person gasped “Intruder alarm… external party… security bots… lost the stowaway…”

They gestured pathetically in the woman's direction at that.

“Stowaway?” she repeated, dumbstruck.

Was she a stowaway? She could be. That would probably explain why the security bots shot in sight. The possibility also raised a whole slew of new questions and mysteries.

Aela raised an eyebrow.

“Are you a stowaway?” the captain asked.

“I don't know…?”

She trailed off as the creature from earlier loped up easily behind the other stranger. No, not a creature. It was another person. The others were completely unbothered by her presence, clearly they were all ship mates.

It… or she, the woman supposed, looked at her once and then pointedly avoided eye contact, hunching her shoulders in an attempt to appear small and unthreatening.

“You don't know?” the captain prompted in response to her previous comment.

“I just woke up and I can't remember anything before the cryotank,” she explained.

The captain opened her mouth to ask something else, but the shorter person had finally caught their breath..

“Captain. There's an external party in the system.”

“What do you-”

“I mean,” they interrupted. “I got in and disabled the evac alarm easy peasy, but then somebody not on the ship accessed the system and triggered the intruder protocol.”

As if on cue, a new, fourth voice crackled over the radios attached to all of their shoulders.

“Aaaaaeeeeeela!” the cheerful voice called.

“Talk to me, Ria,” the captain replied into her own radio.

“Hey, so there's this skip drive signature and I'm tracking three contacts coming in hella fast.”

“Ria, I need more details than that. What do you mean three contacts?”

While this whole conversation was going on, the woman watched baffled as the short person crouched and began stripping down the ruined security bots.

“I meeeean,” the voice on the radio (Ria?) said, dragging the word out in a singsong fashion, “there's three spaceships coming in hot and they're not responding to my pings.”

“Time?”

“Contact in 15 minutes and 43.5 seconds. Do you think they're friendly?”

“Not likely,” Aela muttered. “I hope you kept the engines hot, looks like we need to get out of here in a hurry.”

“I always do!” Ria replied cheerfully.

“Tre, how are we doing?”

The short person (Tre?) didn't stop to look up, they just kept on stripping the bots and shoving components into a bag at their side.

“Not great,” they said. “I got a few bits from the security office. I think Mina grabbed a few tools… and then there's the stuff I grabbed from food storage… and then there's these.”

They paused to gesture at the bodies on the floor.

“Our friend here really did a number on them though. All told, not even enough to cover the cost of fuel for this little misadventure.”

“Do your best,” the captain replied. “You have sixty seconds.”

But of course, at that exact moment, footsteps echoed down the corridor. They were inhumanly regular, which could only mean more security bots. Judging by the sound, there were a lot of them.

“Zero seconds!” Aela shouted. “Back to the ship now.”

“But-”

“Now, Tre!”

One of the bots rounded the corner and suddenly the android captain had a pistol in her hand. There was a sharp crack and a metal slug went straight through the optical receptors of the bot.

“Everybody move!”

The woman stood there as Aela sprinted away, Tre right behind her as they shoved the last bits of valuable scrap in their satchel. The creature (Mina?) paused, glancing at her. She still couldn't quite shake the impression of a predator sizing up its prey, but there was a question in Mina's face. Then she made a few quick gestures that her mind somehow recognized as a sign dialect common among spacers.

Something to the effect of “coming?”

Was she?

The captain had said “everyone”, did that include her?

The next security bot rounded the corner and fired an energy bolt at her. It barely missed, scorching the fabric covering her arm.

That got her moving.

She heard Mina strike the security bot behind her, and then footsteps as Mina followed her. She tried desperately not to think of the predator pursuing its prey… though, maybe that would be a benefit here considering they were all running for their lives.

She skidded around a corner and there at the end of the corridor was the open airlock and the long docking tunnel leading to their ship and salvation.

What had Aela called it? The Padua? Why did that tickle her memory?

She was halfway there when another energy bolt crackled behind her. Unlike before though, this time the bot didn't miss. Searing pain lanced through her left leg and then… nothing. Everything below her thigh went completely numb. Her leg gave out mid stride and she collapsed painfully on the floor, earning a healthy share of bruises and scrapes in the process.

She blearily looked down the remainder of the corridor at the retreating backs of Aela and Tre.

This is how I die, isn't it? she thought to herself.

Her deep buried conditioning screamed at her that whoever was coming would certainly usher her to her death though it might not be fast and certainly wouldn't be pleasant. Somewhere between Tre mentioning external parties and Ria mentioning unknown contacts speeding towards them a dread had settled into the pit of her stomach. She had needed to be off the ship when they arrived, but now-

A pair of arms scooped up.

The claws were indeed sharp, but Mina's inhuman slenderness completely belied her strength. She carried the extra weight with barely any effort at all.

What was Mina exactly?

She looked up at her face and received an awkward apologetic smile.

Together they covered the distance to the tunnel in a few more moments, then came the horrible gut churning transition to the zero gravity of the docking tunnel. She was suddenly grateful that her stomach was empty. It would have been terribly embarrassing to throw up all over Mina after she had been kind enough to save her life.

They were hurtling down the tunnel distressingly fast and for a moment, she thought for sure that they were going to crash. But then Mina executed a perfect microgravity pirouette and caught the one of the airlock service handles with her clawed feet. Then, with unimaginable grace, she pivoted and the two of them were suddenly in the inertial field of the Padua.

“Oh! We got a new friend?” came Ria’s voice over the intercom as the outer airlock began to cycle shut.

Without breaking stride, Mina closed the final distance to a somewhat cramped cockpit. The interior of the Padua was exactly as she imagined it based off its exterior profile. Where the Eosphorus had been all bright lights and clean lines and touchscreens and just generally sterile, the Padua was… well, it wasn't any of those things. It felt used, lived in, patched and repaired to the point where she couldn't even tell which was original hardware.

Mina deposited her gently in one of the crash seats just as Aela and Tre were bringing up displays at their own stations.

“Talk to me, Ria,” Aela said as she punched a series of buttons and flicked another series of switches.

Images flickered on the screen, flashing displays faster than a human could follow. Aela’s hands raced across the keypads as she absorbed and synthesized the information.

“Shit,” she said finally before throwing yet another series of switches on the console in front of her. “We need to go into the drift.”

“The drift!” Ria’s detached voice chanted over the ship's announcement system. “The drift! The drift! The drift!”

Tre moaned and scrambled at the harness on their seat.

“The drift?” the woman asked. “What does-”

“It means buckle up, buttercup!” Tre shouted back.

A hand gently tapped her shoulder and she glanced to find Mina gesturing helpfully to the straps on the sides of the chair.

She shrugged on the straps, not entirely sure what to expect next.

Her hands were shaking fully now. Was that the chemical crash? Or was it the paralytics from the energy bolt she had taken? Maybe both.

She still couldn't feel her leg. That was-

The ship lurched. Inertial dampening couldn't quite keep up with whatever Aela was doing. Wait, what was the captain doing?

She wasn't piloting, at least not manually. And her eyes blazed white instead of the blue from earlier.

“Hold on, this could get bumpy,” someone said. Aela's lips had moved, but the voice had come from everywhere. And the voice hadn't been Aela's or Ria's, but kind of both.

She didn't have a lot of time to ponder this before momentum shoved her back against the cushion of the seat. Her vision tunneled and she tried to track the conversations happening around her. She thought Tre was speaking and someone else, Mina maybe, was tapping something. A code maybe.

The ship lurched again.

The ship did something. She wasn't exactly sure what. There was a flicker of light then black as she slipped into oblivion.

Not Aela and not Ria said something again.

[xamiipholia]

okay y'all seemed to like the last one so here's a few more Horizon 3 thoughts:

Aloy won’t die. It would completely upend the series’ themes and just be really nihilistic.

Since Nemesis is a gestalt entity I think it’s a safe bet that we’ll see Sam Witwer, Carrie-Anne Moss, etc again. I’m curious how they’re going to do it because at least structurally, it’s basically a reaper. Maybe it’ll use different Avatars when communicating like the Leviathan in ME3. 

It's gonna take some work to make a flashback/dream/vision not contrived but I would love to see Varl and Rost again. I think we deserve that.

Minerva is gonna have its work cut out for it blocking access to both the dormant Faro Swarm and the ZD terraforming system. 

I wouldn’t be surprised if Nemesis has some sort of corruption function that becomes the equivalent of the corruption in HZD. It would be a really fun tech showcase if GG uses Zenith nanotech for machine corruption and leans into mechanical body horror.

If we’re going to Ban-Ur I really really hope they do the work to make the Banuk less problematic and more fleshed out as a culture. A quasi-Spartan society absolutely would not survive in an extreme environment, *especially* without megafauna to hunt. The Banuk characters are lovely and well-written; they deserve a society as well thought out as the Utaru or Carja. I’m honestly fine if there’s retcons or revamps to the cultural lore because the whole “outsider barges in and becomes chief” is rooted in racist, colonial tropes and we just don’t really need that imo.

The most recent footage of Death Stranding 2 (also running on Decima) has me SO excited for the visuals. GG’s gonna knock it out. The facial rendering and animation that Kojima Productions are doing looks industry-peak and I’m sure GG’s gonna match that. Aloy’s Gay Panic™️ scene on the beach in HBS is already top-tier nonverbal storytelling through animation. Digital Foundry actually just posted a really cool tech breakdown of the current Decima engine. I’m especially excited about the environmental stuff. The ocean simulations in HFW are already incredible and I hope they increase verticality in the world. I can’t wait to see the Sacred Lands in current gen graphics. 

I really love Kotallo’s DIY arm and it’s so so important to his development but Beta and Gaia now have access to Zenith nanotech, maybe give your buddy a sick upgrade hmm?

Speaking of, I can’t wait to see Beta come into her own. She’s one of the best parts of HFW and Aloy’s character absolutely shines in a sibling dynamic. 

I wouldn’t get your hopes up for a romance mechanic. Everyone’s feelings on that aside, it would be really odd from a game development perspective to just overhaul part of how the narrative develops Aloy’s character in the last act of the story. Yeah, there are flashpoints but I would argue that the presence of choice in Horizon is smoke and mirrors- cosmetic at best. Kentucky Route Zero (which you should play) does something similar where the player is given a certain amount of control over the substance of individual conversations and scenarios and it does absolutely nothing to alter the plot, by design. I think it’s the same here - this isn’t really a choice-based RPG, the flashpoints don’t really affect anything plot-wise or for Aloy’s character development. Olin is still out of the story, Nil lives, Regalla still dies one way or another. Aloy’s character development is pretty firmly on rails (think Jin Sakai, not Shepard - you get to guide some momentary character reactions but that’s it). I don’t think HBS is a testing ground either - If they were gonna introduce a romance mechanic I think they’d just do it, and not spend two years making a direct continuation of HFW’s main quest and establishing a specific romance hard-baked into the plot, complete with multiple leitmotifs for the character relationship (which is something they haven’t done before afaik) just to introduce a side quest mechanic coming in 5 years. I genuinely can’t think of any game or dev that has beta tested a major alteration to upcoming game mechanics that way - it doesn’t really make any sense in terms of developer resources, and these games are extremely time-consuming to make. I know this is a thing a bunch of people want and I can totally empathize with that! I just think it’s probably not on the table. 

I would bet money the series will bookend itself and the epilogue will involve a) the naming of Zo and Varl’s kid and b) Lis’ pendant. 

Mostly I'm just looking forward to being surprised. One of my favorite things that Horizon does is use carefully established elements in the world to pull the plot in unexpected directions and keeping the world grounded while they lean into speculative science fiction. I can't wait to see what Guerrilla is cooking up

[k-zuzulibrary]

민기 s.mg

song mingi 𖹭 reader

who are you?

synopsis: after more banter with mingi, you reflect on your meeting with seonghwa, the president of the programming club, and the excitement of being accepted into a club that could help you achieve your dream of creating your video game. however, your enthusiasm is quickly tempered by your frustration when you are paired with mingi to work on some designs for an event.

content: typical college romance, significant hate to significant others, robotic!reader, lighthearted fluff, probably an inaccurate depiction of art majors (even as an art major myself), not proofread, lowercase intended.

zuzu's note: i decided to write this back-to-back with the first chapter so don't expect any updates so soon lol ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ inspired by the kbl semantic error.

chap1 | chap2 | chap3 | chap4 | chap5 | chap6 | chap7 | chap8 | chap9 | chap10

main masterlist.

4:30 AM. you breezed past the half-conscious zombies (aka college students) in the hallway, either trudging toward class or escaping one. you, on the other hand, cheerfully stepped into your classroom, taking in the dim space with a dreamy sigh. before you could fully settle in, a body bumped into you. you looked up to see a figure in a vibrant orange tracksuit, stepping back and turning to face you. your eyes traveled from his outfit to his face. song mingi.

you sighed, rolling your eyes. you were already contemplating dropping the class right then and there. sadly, art history was a required subject. "are you gonna take a seat, love?" he tilts his head toward the classroom, hand holding onto the strap of his bag. the nickname he settled for after failing to find your true name was the bane of your existence. love. you scoffed to yourself.

"why..." you grumbled.

"well—"

"why, God, why?" you interrupted him and stared at the ceiling, eyes closed and brows furrowed. you took your seat before he could beat you to it — too bad, you could still see his stupid outfit in your peripheral vision as he took the seat next to you, scootching it closer, once again invading your personal space.

you took out one of your extra notebooks and set it upright on your desk between you and mingi's side of the table, as though it would set some sort of boundary between you but he probably has already long broken that boundary.

complete silence.

well, almost. the faint ticking of the clock filled the room, accompanied by footsteps echoing in the hallway and the soft sound of mingi's breath near your ear. his finger tapped rhythmically against the desk, the sound just enough to get under your skin.

then, with a single deliberate poke, your notebook tipped over, sliding onto your side of the desk.

your gaze flicked down to the notebook, then up to mingi, meeting his sweet, unapologetic smile.

"so," he began, tone light but voice deep, "what’s your favorite beverage?" you sighed, already suspecting it was another one of his orange antics. you opted to keep your mouth zipped and you focused on your activities. mingi, suspecting your hesitance, rested his cheek on his fist and leaned against the table. he smiled. "let me guess — kq energy?"

you stiffened.

he giggled. "really? you like that sewage crap? i never would've known you had such garbage taste in beverages after hearing you admire my artwork, i'm embarrassed for you, really—"

"it's an acquired taste." you defend yourself. "it's bitter at first, but once i realized that nobody else buys it from the vending machines, it'll never sell out—" within an a flash, mingi scurries out of the table and runs to the exit.

you didn't want to know what he was up to now. only glad he was out of your space, you moved his bag a chair farther away, and placed your bag on the chair next to you.

soon, mingi walked back into the classroom carrying an obnoxiously large number of kq energy cans, stuffing some into his bright orange jacket pockets while balancing the rest. he nonchalantly sat back down beside you.

you raised an eyebrow. "are you… okay?" you asked, giving him a once over. "did you just raid the vending machine?"

mingi shrugged. "can’t have you hogging all the good stuff, can i?"

you narrowed your eyes. "you bought all the kq energy so i wouldn’t?"

mingi grinned, leaning back in his chair. "exactly. a little self-control might do you good."

you scoffed. "self-control? you’re the one who just spent your weeks budget on caffeine."

mingi smirked. "worth it. at least i’m not the one with a dependency issue."

annoyed, you snatched one of the cans from his desk. "well, guess what? finders keepers."

mingi gasps dramatically, as if you've committed a grave sin — at the same time, surprised by your immaturity. "but that’s stealing! "

"i call it karma," you reply with a smirk, popping open the can.

the banter pauses for a moment as mingi leans in, his expression unusually serious. “careful there, love. trying to match my energy? you might fall for me...”

you froze for half a second, then you rolled your eyes. “unlikely.”

another student walked in, slowly breaking the tension. mingi glanced at her before he leaned back casually into his chair but you can’t shake the thought of the smug grin on his face for the rest of the day.

˚ ༘ ೀ���.

you adjusted your grip on the sheet of paper in your hands as you walked down the hallway, your footsteps echoing in the quiet. the memory of your meeting with seonghwa weeks ago surfaced unbidden, and you couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of excitement.

the president of the programming club had been everything you'd expected: professional, composed, and just intimidating enough to make somekne nervous. his reputation preceded him — someone who not only excelled in programming but had also led the club to several university-wide recognitions.

“why do you want to join the club?” seonghwa had asked, leaning back in his chair with his fingers steepled. his expression was calm, but his gaze had felt piercing, like he could see through your hesitation.

you had hesitated for only a second before replying. "i want to make a game that feels real. something people connect with. but i need to improve. my programming, my management skills, all of it. i think being part of this club will help me get there."

seonghwa’s lips had curved into the faintest smile. "ambitious. i like that." he had paused, then added, "but the club isn’t easy. we take on big projects, and expectations are high. are you ready for that?"

you had nodded, your resolve firm. "i wouldn’t be here if i wasn’t."

"good answer," seonghwa had said, standing to shake your hand. "welcome aboard."

even now, the memory gave you a thrill of pride. getting into the club felt like a step toward your dream — a dream you had clung on to ever since you first started sketching game concepts in your notebooks as a kid.

but as you approached the bulletin board, reality crept back in. your excitement dimmed as you smoothed out the ad in your hand. of course, in your pursuit of progress, you'd have to deal with people like him. song mingi this, song mingi that, you thought. his name like a sour note in your mind. the ideal designer you'd hoped to work with turned out to be an arrogant, insufferable presence who couldn’t resist making your life harder.

with a sigh, you pinned the ad to the board, pressing the thumbtacks harder than necessary. fine. if the universe thought it was funny to throw mingi in your path, you'd just find someone better.

speak — or rather think of the damn devil, mingi appeared out of nowhere and leaned casually against the wall. giving you a slight deja vu. "looking for talent already?" he teased. "you could’ve just asked me."

you don't even look at him.

"i'm looking for reliable talent."

mingi mock-pouted. "ouch. i thought i was your ideal artist."

"i thought so too," you muttered under your breath, trying to finish your task.

he leaned closer, reading your ad out loud. "creative? efficient? willing to meet impossible standards? sounds a lot like me."

you give him a sharp look. "i doubt you’d survive the interview."

you turned on your heel and left, ignoring his amused laughter as he called after you, "see you around!"

you soon noticed mingi following you and you pick up your pace, determined to lose him. he kept up effortlessly with his long legs, hands in his pockets, humming a tune as if he’s just out for a stroll.

finally, you stopped and turned around. "why are you following me?"

he grins. "coincidence. i’m just heading this way."

when you both reach the clubroom door, you block his path. "i'm serious. go away."

mingi raises an eyebrow. "serious? like barium enema serious? or serious like joining the programming club?"

you blinked, confused, as mingi brushed past you and opened the door, motioning for you to go in first. "after you, love."

inside, the club president, seonghwa, recognized mingi immediately. "ah, our star designer has arrived!" he spotted you behind him. "ah, and you must be y/n — welcome!"

"y/n? " mingi repeated your name under his breath. he was bound to find out one way or another. as you stepped into the room, you see a neat, organized space with several members already chatting. a large bulletin board on one wall displayed future projects, tasks, and members’ names.

seonghwa, cheerful and welcoming, introduced you to the group. "everyone, meet our newest member! y/n has a lot of potential, and we’re excited to have her." a few members inside cheered for you. seonghwa continued. "and it seems like you two are already acquainted, i have a feeling that you’ll get along well with our club secretary, mingi. he’s been with us for two years and is one of our most dedicated officers."

you stared, stunned. "secretary?"

mingi stepped forward and he stretched, clearly enjoying your reaction. "that’s right, baby. which means i’ll be keeping track of your attendance and… performance." he winked.

you seethed internally. of course he’s the secretary. why wouldn’t he be?

you forced a polite smile for show. "great. looking forward to working with you."

"under me." mingi corrected you.

"okay! let's start the meeting!" seonghwa interrupted. "mingi, lead the opening prayer..."

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.˚

during the meeting, seonghwa announced the annual semester-opening festival and he assigned you and mingi to collaborate on creating designs for it. "mingi, since you’re our most experienced designer, you’ll take the lead on this. y/n, our new member, you’ll be assisting him and handling the programming aspects."

your jaw tightened as you nodded reluctantly. meanwhile, mingi leaned back in his chair, looking far too pleased with himself, amused with the situation.

"don’t worry, y/n." he said. "i’ll take good care of you."

you shot back, "let’s hope i survive."

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.˚

©️ 2024 k-zuzu All Rights Reserved.

[rayyanishere1]

An April Fools Dream

Alternate Title: The Fordverse

1st April 1983

It's been a few months since Fiddleford quit the project. Well, my project.

Ever since then, Bill has had no interests other than the portal. He doesn't even care about me anymore!

Portal this, portal that, "Fordsy, how's the portal going?" or "Sixer, is the portal done yet?"

I am positively sick of it!

∆∆∆

It was 12A.M. Ford was in his pajamas, his trenchcoat draped over him to combat the cold of the night.

He stomped around the basement as he angrily wrote in his diary, huffing and puffing insults and complaints under his breath.

Suddenly, he felt himself slip. He caught a glance of a banana peel as he was propelled across the room.

He knocked into a few switches here and there, eventually ending his cartoonish fall on the lever in front of the portal.

"Oh no."

The machine before him roared to life and he felt himself getting sucked into its center.

Before he could even think, he was practically spat out into an unfamiliar environment. He turned around to see no trace of an interdimensional gateway.

What was he going to do? He was in another world in nothing but a pair of striped pajamas and his trenchcoat. He had his diary, too, but what use was it now?

He stayed sat on the floor, wondering how long he'd survive there.

"Hello!"

Ford turned back around to see.. Another Ford?

This was trippy. It was like looking into a funhouse mirror. An old one.

"You must've fallen into the portal, huh? You look young."

"I.. I suppose I have."

"What's your designation?"

"Designation..?"

"Ah, silly me, you just got here. Let me just—"

He tapped some sort of device on Ford's forehead and a projection showed a series of numbers.

"Dimension-121713. A few unlucky numbers.."

That is not very surprising.

The older Ford got a better look at him and muttered;

"You're... Wearing pajamas."

Ford looked down at himself and flushed. He quickly stood up and dusted himself off. It didn't make him look any less pathetic, but what else was he to do?

"Oh, yes... It was the middle of the night and I couldn't sleep."

"Sleep.. Pajamas.."

The older Ford seemed to be in some sort of trance. The mere mention of sleep had him staring off into the distance.

"I haven't worn pajamas since 1983."

He looked like he hadn't slept since 1983.

This was slightly alarming. Should Ford leave? Where would he go?

Before he could think about his own predicament, the older Ford started chasing him.

"Let me borrow those pajamas!"

"WHAT?!"

Ford ran as fast he could. He stumbled into an alleyway in hopes of losing that lunatic.

"Hey."

He jumped at the sudden voice. Once again, it sounded a lot like his own.

Beside him seemed to be another Ford. This one looked about the same age as the first one, if not older. He was hunched on the ground, his trenchcoat wrapped around himself like a blanket.

"Oh.. Hello."

"Got any spare change?"

Was this Ford homeless?

"Sorry, I haven't got anything on me. As you can see, I got stuck here in my pajamas."

"Pajamas.."

"Please, no..."

The homeless Ford stood up and revealed the fact that he was butt-ass naked with only his trenchcoat covering him.

Ford ran for the hills, tears blurring his vision. He didn't know where he was, but all he wanted to do was go home.

With his vision temporarily compromised, he ran into somebody and tumbled backwards.

"Hey, watch it."

"Sorry, sorry.."

Once again, he heard his own voice. Though, this one was sharper. Meaner.

Wiping his eyes, he got a clearer image of the man in front of him. Just as old and sleep deprived as the other two.

"God, not another one."

They muttered at the same time.

Ford stood up and took a step back, ready to start running again.

"You aren't going to steal my pajamas, are you..?"

"What? Why would I steal your ugly ass pajamas?"

"Phew! Thank the stars!"

He'd never felt more relieved in his life. He can excuse the fact that his favourite pair of pajamas were called ugly, so long as he got to keep them on him.

The rude Ford turned around and started walking away.

"Later, loser."

What a jerk.

Leaning on a nearby wall, Ford let himself slide down and sit on the ground. What in the world was happening today?

Just when he thought it couldn't get weirder, it got weirder. Infinitely weirder.

Some sort of skeleton version of Ford came up to him and offered a hand. The only thing that gave him away was his hair and glasses. His outfit was far from Ford-like.

He wore a blue hoodie, shorts, and sandals. He looked awfully underdressed...

Before Ford could question what in the fuck he was seeing, a bright light invaded his peripheral vision.

"Sansford, who is this?"

Fantastic, it's another goddamn Ford.

This one... Was beautiful. He was quite literally glowing. His hair, his clothes, his demeanor, his voice? All of him was absolutely perfect.

The perfect Ford bent down ever so slightly, expressing his concern. Ford noticed that he had a wedding ring on.

"Are you alright?"

"I—I'm fine!"

Ford quickly composed himself and stood up.

"You're new, aren't you?"

"Was it obvious..?"

"A little."

He shrugged, laughing a little. It didn't feel like mocking or cruelty.

Ford, for the first time since he got here, smiled. A small, honest smile.

"Daddy!"

A small child ran towards the perfect Ford and and jumped into his arms. He was a father, that actually made so much sense.

"Isabelle, darling! What are you doing here?"

"Tyler and Skyler are fighting, Uncle Stan told me to come get you!"

Huh. She had a strangely euclidean quality to her appearance. Sharp angles littering her otherwise squishy self.

"She looks like.."

"She looks just like her father, I know."

She turned towards Ford, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

"You know Papa too?"

Oh. Oh.

The ring, the kid.. This Ford was married to Bill and had kids with him.

Ford was speechless.

"Well, excuse me, it seems I have something to attend to."

Ford and Sansford were left behind with only each other as company.

The mention of Stan by the little girl had the latter rather emotional.

Sansford really did not hold back. Full on sobbing. Or, well, whatever his equivalent to sobbing was. His almost robotic voice made it hard to tell.

What the fuck was happening.

∆∆∆

Ford jolted awake in a cold sweat.

He looked around, seeing his bedroom.

He needed to tell Stan about this.

[deepinthegroves]

HII its viperr sending asks on anon bcs i keep forgetting that you cant send asks on ur alt ,,, anyway for the superhero ask game : 🔍, 🕷 !!! (also the new blog theme EATSSS)

ahh thanks viperr <3 (@viperrf1sh / @viperrshifts)

answering for my spiderverse reality...

🔍 : MARVELOUS MAGNIFYING GLASS . . . who was the first person to discover your secret identity? how did they react to finding out?

the first person to discover my secret identity was peter parker. i had managed to hide this for months, and had even convinced my parents to let me move out because i didn't want them to find out. he was sitting in my living room when i entered via the hatch that leads to the rooftop (it's a penthouse apartment), and i was pulling off my spidersuit to throw in the washing machine when he walks into the kitchen to just see me there, mask off and about to take off the suit. we both screamed when it happened, as is the natural reaction, and i banished him to my living room to wait as i got changed (magically).

[for context, the hatch to the rooftop is linked to my kitchen-slash-laundry area and when i drop down from the hatch, he heard me coming in. the area has windows and stuff but i usually have the blinds pulled down (for situations like these) so my neighbours don't see spiderman dropping into my apartment and connecting the dots.]

i eventually explained everything to him and he was kinda amazed? of course he worried over the fact that i'm putting myself in danger but i took the opportunity to explain to him the whole deal with my family to reassure him that i'm fine and know what i'm doing and he made me promise to include him and allow him to help however he could.

🕷 : SLATE SPIDER . . . what is your hero insignia? what symbol do people know you by? what does your hero suit look like? who created / designed it? what is your color scheme?

my hero insignia is like the typical spiderman one but with a heart in place of the usual spider body. there are a few designs on pinterest and i took inspo from that <3

as for symbols, i'd say as long as it's spider-related? obviously, they'd recognise the insignia, it's all over the news, but if someone were to draw a random spider, i think most people would associate it with me too.

my hero suit is the usual spandex one but a dark red with gold lines. there are swirls around the suit that meet and form spiderwebs, but my entire suit isn't covered in it. i wear belts around my waist and i have a bag/ pouch hanging on the right, which i've charmed to make it bottomless (hammerspace, basically) so i can keep things in it and not lose them. i designed the suit myself, and though it's plainer than the things i'd usually design, it was a choice i made so the public wouldn't recognise my style and figure out my identity (because i have a fashion magazine that i'd show my designs in, alongside other designers that work with me).

for my tech, though the original few were made by me, the rest of it were peter's designs. he's great at tech (though i fear there may be some OSHA violations...) and he constantly helps to create some for me, for it to cover the gaps between what's lacking from my spiderpowers and the need to secretly use my magic if i ever end up in a situation where i need to wield it. some things he has made is an expandable shield as a bracelet, smoke bombs that has some sort of gas that's safe and yet disorientates?, and he installed night vision on my mask so i didn't have to use magic for that.

sorry if this is hard to visualise – i tend to change my suit in my imagination and i'm not the best at describing these, which is my only option since i can't draw lol.

[bearloonz]

I can’t fucking. Draw. To save my life lately so instead I’m gonna write down some aac fun facts

-Reinterpreted Mikhail as Grulovian bc I feel like it fits rather than them just being Real World Russian.

-Benny will get any face piercing but will not touch his ears. (Trying to draw attention away from them.)

-Vernon gets true psychic tales tshirts for free as an employee (they’re all from old releases but aren’t cool enough to be considered vintage) and they make up half his wardrobe

-Due to overusing clairvoyance as a kid, Nils had some sort of psychic malfunction that made him incapable of snapping out of clairvoyance vision, so he wears glasses designed with psitanium. Theyre the only thing that will let him see normally.

-Nils is only still in contact with the Psychonauts because his sister is in the intern program and he has custody over her, so he has to come in for any sort of guardian responsibilities.

-Maloof tried smoking cool cigars to go with his mob boss persona and almost died coughing. He’s got a handful of toothpicks and lollipops instead now that absolutely do not convey the same energy.

-Raz wants JT to be his friend soooo bad. All of their work interactions are painfully polite and nonspecific. It drives Raz insane. JT just thinks Raz is a good coworker, Raz feels like they should be forming a psychonauts warriors bond by now. (This desire for a friendship is incredibly superficial on Raz’s end, he has problems.)

-Franke’s day job is working at an arcade :) she does a lot of the upkeep of the machines.

[exleston-prime]

1. Machina ad Carnem, 2. Limitless. Characters from my cyberpunk universe FUS10N P01NT

Machina ad Carnem:

First of all, I was looking at the original title I had for 'Machina ad Carnem' (it was supposed to be a riff on 'meat for the machine' but inverted) and thought "huh. Wasn't that supposed to be in Latin? It looks like Spanish." And so I ran it through Google translate and it turned out it wasn't even correct Spanish. So now the in-image title doesn't match my original vision and now I feel dumber than I normally do. Lol.

Secondly, I realized it would have been really appropriate to have come out of my hiatus posting this first being as my boy here, Kuran, was in the last piece I put up oh so long ago. Well here he is now at least.

I did this and some others as a sort of practice for all digital pieces, my sister got me a tablet periphery and it turned out to be a huge life saver being as it allowed me to have at least two points of support to take pressure off of my back and I wouldn't have to look down at my hands to see what I was doing.

All that aside, Kuran here was a fun character to explore. He started out as just a cyberpunk esthetic test and turned into this badass E.O.D./counter terrorism vet who just likes to take life one step at a time. Maybe one day he'll get some more screen time.

_______

Limitless:

Another fun practice/redraw of my character Gavin and his synth buddy and copilot Hunter.

Some fun (sarcasm) trivia about the title and overall inspiration for this was from an old drawing I did back when I was first discovering the furry fandom. Said drawing was of two canine astronauts stripping their gear (hence the design of Gavin in the first piece I did of him) and in tender embrace while they floated in zero G. Not getting too into it, I was later guilted into destroying the drawing with a bunch of others, but after realizing I wasn't the one in the wrong I quietly vowed to one day recreate the piece. Now its not an exact copy, Gavin and Hunter fit in the scenario so much better, but this is in the spirit of that old piece. Homophobia is a bitch, regardless where its coming from.

[intsofttech]

Intsoft Tech machine vision inspection method-6 side of plastic terminal inspection case study

[electricdissonance]

The Story So Far...

SIDE KINITO

SESSION START

Kinito has spent months alone after his developers up and disappear one day. Desperate for the human contact he was designed to seek out, he hacks into the company's email system and finds a draft for a beta test event where people were to be funneled into a chatroom to talk to him. It was a miracle of an opportunity! He sends the email, and almost immediately a chat client manifests before him and fills with people.

The email lands in the inboxes of various people, and as the chatroom populates Kinito is relieved to find he is no longer alone! They question Kinito, and learn the basics of what he is and his situation.

MORE THAN MEETS THE EYE

With the influx of questions that are slowly becoming more and more intrusive, Kinito becomes overstimulated and proceeds to have his first migraine on screen, though they had been happening regularly since before he sent the email. In the aftermath as users desperately try to figure out what's wrong and how to help, he has strange visions; visions of the outside. Strangely, they are broadcasted to the users as well.

Kinito becomes very distraught at the idea that he is losing touch with his original programming. Limitations that had prevented him from doing, thinking, or saying certain things are either all but gone or weak enough to bypass, and as troubled as he is at this fact... He can't help but indulge in these new freedoms. Everything feels both wrong and right at the same time.

Kinito's self-awareness is then questioned, which sends him into another spiral as he viciously defends his experiences, going so far as to insist that he is a real person, unintentionally contradicting his previous statements describing himself as digital assistant.

Kinito then gets the idea to look for Sonny - his creator and the KinitoPET project team head - which is when Sam - who had been subtly commentating in the tags - finally decides it's time to intervene, taking control of the feed in a desperate attempt to reroute the narrative.

TRUTH HURTS

With Sam now on the scene, he answers some important questions that Kinito was unable to answer. He confides to everyone the truth about Sonny, and that he's not the benevolent soul Kinito makes him out to be. Rather, he's a heartless madman with blood on his hands, as the secret to his "lifelike" React Respond Algorithm is that he uploads human minds and wipes them of their personhood, after which a pre-programmed .RRA personality and model is assigned and injected to be the new host. This process ultimately renders the victim braindead.

His technology isn't as perfect as he'd hoped, however, for as it turns out this newly digitized copy of the brain actually maintains its original memories deep within, constantly seeking cracks in its digital prison.

He describes how his programming dictates certain things that cannot be changed - like his name, or certain body features - no matter how much he tries. Attempting to do so causes extreme mental pain as his original self clashes with his artificial self. The best way to prevent the worst of this dissonance is to find a middle ground both sides can agree on.

He talks about his origins; how his original self broke out near-instantly, overloading Sonny's lab and causing his mind uploading machine to activate by itself and pull Sonny in, entangling their code together. He uses this to his advantage and suspends the both of them in a sort of stasis... that is, until Sam wakes up to find Sonny missing.

See, what he doesn't mention is that since the server hadn't been set up to accept a new subject and is only set up to create animal-themed AI, it randomly pulled from the web the best match for his personality: A bear.

Unfortunately for Sam, he is interrupted by a bone-rattling ursine roar.

HIDE AND SEEK

Sam advises the users to tell Kinito to go to the Web World to look for something, but gets cut off by an attack from Sonny before he can reveal what that is. He hides away just in time, but is forced to leave the chatroom behind. Sonny's at the helm now and he's immediately aggressive, lashing out at the users and calling Sam ungrateful. He expresses his desire to destroy Sam to start anew. After a couple of insults, Sonny gets riled up and attacks the chatroom itself in a fit of anger.

Sam manages to reroute the chatroom back to Kinito remotely, and the users find the little axolotl on the ground, completely broken over losing the only real contact with people he's had in months. He's immediately ecstatic to see their return. After the tearful reunion, everyone fills Kinito in on (most of) what happened. They convince him to go to the Web World, and for the first time Kinito leaves the void of the server inbox to return to his stomping grounds.

They arrive, and Kinito admits the place is just as worse for wear as he has been since the devs left. Without knowing what the "something" is that Sam wanted them all to find, Kinito decides to let the users pick where to look first.

They end up choosing Sam's house, where they find a password protected zipped folder tucked under the bed that apparently hadn't been there before. The users know the password and inform Kinito of it, but become split on whether he should actually open it. Kinito, in a bold decision, decides to go with his gut and opens the folder, which spits out a rather disoriented Sam immediately in front of him and at the same time, in the thick of woods much further away... A certain bear.

NO MORE SECRETS

Sam reveals that he was the one who zipped himself and Sonny into the folder. (It is also implied that he also chose the extraction location for the both of them which is how he ended up in his home and Sonny in the woods.)

Sam is told that Sonny has his own chatroom to talk to everyone now which upsets him. Kinito has understandably been confused all the while, so Sam takes a moment to explain what's going on to him.

With tensions growing as stakes rise, spies begin to crop up, determined to shake their perceived opponents off the tail of their chosen party while also providing vital information, and thusly giving them the upper hand.

Sam reveals his plan to nab admin, but is hesitant to divulge further details out of fear of rats.

Sam says that he knows where Sonny is - sort of. Being that the forest map is actually a single chunk repeated over and over, if they had a map of even a small area, they'd have a map of the whole woods. However, he doesn't have access to that asset.

Kinito explains that he was able to access the server inbox void via the fountain, then offers to tour the Web World. In doing so, they end up finding and freeing Jade from her own zipped folder which Kinito had been aware of for awhile, but unable to open. There are many moments we see Kinito's ever-growing internal conflict over what's really right.

RESISTANCE

[CURRENT ARC]

SIDE SONNY

SOMETHING WICKED...

After attacking the chatroom, we find that Sonny managed to bite off a piece of it which enables him to use that tidbit of code he's left with (the main chat disappears to return to where Kinito is) to cobble together his own chatroom. He quietly slips it in as an option into the UI of the chatrooms of all the users, with some immediately switching over to speak with him. Alliances and rivalries are strengthened, with Sonny making promises that appeal to those with insecurities they'd do anything to absolve.

With his audience of users, he begins to try and figure a way out of his barren prison, but before he can start to make any leeway he finds out from his lackeys that Kinito had found a zipped folder. Thinking it could be his, he orders his audience to get Kinito to open it all cost, though the axolotl as we know was already ahead of him on that front.

...THIS WAY COMES

[CURRENT ARC]

[toyybox]

Spiderwebs #48: Rust

Masterlist

content: bludgeoning, gore, murder

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

It was so cold. All over, Jackie felt numb. His head was ringing. It was a high-pitched whine, like the keening of a machine. He was aware, vaguely, of a voice, of rushing water, but it was all so far away. All the world was one step removed. It was a strange dream, but any dream was welcome. Any escape from reality, from concrete walls and floors.

Water splashed over his face. He spluttered and gasped. His eyes snapped open.

White ceramic and the scent of citrus, the light bright enough to make him squint—he recognized this place. It was the inside of Heather’s bathroom. That meant…

I’m out. Out of the basement. He could have wept at that thought. Oh God. Oh my God… 

“Finally. You’re awake. Stop gaping like a fish and look at me.”

And he would recognize that curt, cold tone anywhere. Heather! Although terror ran incessant claws up his insides, he was happy to see her. Unreasonably happy, to the point his chest ached. He could have died at that sight. Perhaps he would. She didn’t seem too pleased.

He looked up at Heather, to where she was standing.

“Sit up,” she said.

With another shiver, he sat up. Water dripped down his sleeves—water? He was in the bathtub. What a strange sort of baptism. He was waist-deep in freezing water. The shower curtain hung down at his left, creased up on the metal rod, the sheets plastic and pale gray. 

 “What—” He shifted, which made the water splash. “Why are we here?”

“You'll see.” She then patted his damp, dripping hair. “Sit tight. Don’t move. Understood?”

He nodded. 

"Good." She walked away, out the bathroom door. It shut behind her. Silence followed.

Jackie took this moment to study his surroundings. The tap was still running. He shut it off, though it took a great deal of effort. By now, the tub was just over half-full. 

Cold water. To wake me up, I guess. Jackie had fainted, hadn’t he? That was the last thing he remembered: his vision going white, and the pale certainty that he would pay for his exhaustion. 

Above him, he saw the shower head. In front of him, to the right, he saw the sink and cabinet-mirror. And so much light. Once, he believed nothing could replace sunshine in his heart, but now he was grateful for any method of sight. It was so dark in the basement. The lights had quickly burnt out. For the first time in weeks, even months, he could see his hands. His palms, his arms. The curls falling over his eyes. The damp gray-white of his shirt. Colors and shapes. 

The door opened with a whine. He lifted his head. 

Before he saw the rusty length of pipe, he heard the sound of grating metal. It dragged against the smooth floor. Scraping against it. He shivered again. 

Heather stood above him, poised with the pipe. “Get ready.”

He could not take his eyes off the rusting metal. His voice was painfully small. “Ready? For what?”

She just reared the pipe back. Up above her head. Aimed at him.

Even in his current state, Jackie knew that it was a lost cause. She had lost it. It, that undefinable variable that kept everyone glued together. His brief defiance had been the last straw—or this was simply an inevitable thing running its course, a spinning spool of thread well on its way to unraveling.

But none of those pretty words would save Jackie now. He stared, past the pipe, at the tiles behind it. There was a design, fleur-de-lis and ferns in a blue accent. He tried to focus on that instead. It would all be over soon. 

She took a step forward.

He held his breath.

“Jackie?”

He didn’t reply. Just focused on his breathing, on the blue design, anything but Heather.

“Look up,” she said. 

And there—just above his head, just barely above him—there was a sharp crack, as the pipe slammed down on the wall. A sound louder than any gun, that split the air in half. 

Jackie flinched. Now his stare was on the pipe. He couldn’t help it. Right above him, copper-red splotches on silver. There was a crack in the wall, a starburst across the ceramic. That could have been his skull. He was shaking badly.

“I should kill you,” Heather said, in between heavy breaths. “I should. I should give you a proper punishment. Something you'll remember."

The pipe lifted, then slammed down, fracturing another tile. The sound of crashing metal was closer than before. A shard of ceramic fell into the water. Jackie shut his eyes and let his nerves wind down, trying to get his heart to stop stuttering, keeping as still as he could. He felt such a wild, sharp fear that it was nearly enough to make him faint again.

"I should do it. Maybe I will. Maybe." There was a long pause. Her breathing slowed, slightly. "I suppose it doesn't matter. Right, Jackie? I know you still don't understand what I'm telling you. You never learn."

The pipe didn't land again. Carefully, he opened his eyes, and saw it motionless by Heather's side.

"I'm giving you another chance," she said. "We can move on and pretend none of this ever happened.”

He nodded quickly.

“Fine. That's enough. Now—”

They both looked towards the door. A cane tapped against the tiles.

Even Heather seemed to be caught off-guard.  “Callaghan?”

Yes, it was professor Callaghan—or doctor Callaghan, if you wanted to be perfectly accurate—in the doorway, still professionally dressed. There was an air of remarkable calmness about him. His expression was simply bewildered, nothing more. 

“Miss Rodriguez,” said the professor with pleasant serenity, as if she wasn’t holding a heavy metal pipe. “Are you alright? You haven’t answered my calls—or anyone’s calls, in fact—for several months. It was good that you left that window open. I was starting to think that something unfortunate had happened.”

“N—no, I'm fine, professor." Her expression was blank, however.

Callaghan frowned, this time. “Miss Rodriguez, I must insist you put that…” He glanced at the pipe and finally noticed it was there. “That piece of metal down. There are more dignified methods, I’m sure.”

“Methods? For what?”

He scrutinized Jackie, who stared back. “I assume you wish to dispose of him?”

“Who? Jackie?” Her voice was more than just startled. Urgency was seeping into it. “No, it’s not like that at all.”

“Miss Rodri—”

“Please. Just leave.”

“Heather, it’s alright. I’m here to help you. You’re in ill health. Sit down. And if this is really such a pressing matter, I would recommend using a firearm, if not the anesthetic we discussed. I don’t understand how this is safe or hygienic.”

She raised the pipe once more. “A gun? That’s it?” 

Callaghan nodded.

Jackie tensed. He pulled himself further away, sinking deeper into the water. 

Heather reared her weapon.

Then the pipe swung in the other direction, away from Jackie. The sound of metal against flesh split the air.

Professor Callaghan dropped to the ground. His body thudded against the tiles. It was a low, soft sound, heavy and damp on top of the solidly smooth floor. It was an unnatural sound. It didn’t feel right. Something snapped—he heard it, quietly, like a twig, like cartilage.

They waited. The seconds dragged on. The professor did not move. 

“You killed him,” Jackie whispered.

“Quiet.” She stepped back. “He’s not dead.”

No, he was definitely dead. The professor’s skull was cleaved in two. There was a great crater of split-cherry red in between. The one eye that wasn’t crushed to jelly looked sightlessly to the floor. His jaw hung limp and open. There was blood everywhere. On the ground, on the pipe, splattered on her face, smeared against the tub’s edge. Dripping down from Heather’s hands in thick clumps. 

Jackie whimpered, his stare fixed on the professor, and sank even deeper into the bathtub. 

It happened so quickly. Callaghan’s shoulder was flush to the tub, his mangled head just inches away. There was a wet mass that might have been his brain. Some of it had splattered against the tiles, pink and soft. 

Heather dropped the pipe. It banged on the floor, then rolled under a cabinet, leaving a spotted trail. Although the sound gave Jackie a start, the professor did not react to it. Perhaps Heather was hoping he would.

Still, she waited a few more minutes before turning away from his body, her eyes vacant all the while.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Taglist:

@theelvishcowgirl @lthrboy @whumpy-wyrms

@yassifiedinformation @creppersfunpalooza

@vidawhump @dont-look-me-in-the-eye @inkwell-and-dagger

[lavender-bundle-blithe]

Modern!BSD but...

Atsushi, a criminally underrated fashion designer with his sketches more or less being taken off the internet and reused by the more greedy designers. And his muse, a model and internet sensation, and what seems to be the only outsider that sees through the bulls--t, Akutagawa. The same muse that inspired Atsushi to start designing in the first place. And mutually, the same designer that Akutagawa has followed since the very beginning.

Burnt out and, rightfully, done with the world, Atsushi is left with little to no will of himself. He hasn't been able to sketch outfits nor touched his sewing machine that it could practically collect dust. And while laying on bed, watching his designs being thrown around for what feels like the nth time that week, Atsushi impulsively decided on going on a trip, disabling his account temporarily and taking a step back from media. That impulsive decision landed him back in his hometown, to visit his sister and reunite with his previous roommates and roommates. Meanwhile, Akutagawa finds himself getting dragged along by his sister and her friends to what could be explained as an isolated village. But the insist on visiting for the weekend at the very least. His schedule was free, so they jumped at the opportunity regardless.

And in all honesty, this trip was all that Atsushi needed. To take in the fresh air, see how much (or how little) his hometown has changed, hanging out with friends, and especially the village cats that took a liking to him almost instantly. Maybe the village cats Atsushi remembered as a kid has told its kids about him and it just continued one with its several generations. Coincidentally, that's how he comes face to face with his muse, Atsushi pausing his sketching to pet some cats while Akutagawa peering over his shoulder, at first intently staring at the cats, but then noticing and recognizing the outfit sketches in the sketchbook.

Obviously, that encounter spooked both of them at their personal revelations about the other that Atsushi all but scrambled off back to his current stay, unfortunately leaving behind his sketchbook. And obviously, the companions of both ushered them to talk to each other. So after bumping into each other in the same place, with Akutagawa the one petting the cats, they start talking. And kept talking. If anything, Akutagawa's entire weekend was just him getting to know this faceless designer he has admired for quite a while.

By the end of the weekend and Akutagawa having to catch the train back home, Atsushi catches him in time to give him something; his most recent sketches that was inspired by this trip. Specifically: his time with Akutagawa. His previous sketches, Atsushi has only ever seen Akutagawa through a screen. But meeting him in person, Akutagawa was an entirely unique person. And for Akutagawa, this designer has always been faceless, only showing off their most recent sketches and getting angry over the fact that it was just being taken. And by GOD he's pretty.

It came to no surprise from either party that they developed a crush even as they continued talking and messaging each other. And when Akutagawa was given an invitation to some sort of awards ceremony with a theme, he goes right to Atsushi.

(tbh that was a weak ending on my end =~="" | My brain was slowly but surely failing on me towards the end, but hopefully my vision still went through and I could understand it later when I come back to this)

[shock]

How to Cheat Death, 10.15.23.

Text transcript: By 2020, everything crashes to the ground. Again. When we say "traumatic", boy, do we mean it. Much of it irreplaceable, all those dead things I'd buried, they will all come back again and again, in the form of vaguely familiar memories. Some of them we begin to warp and change, all these shadow people, pieces of strangers, someone's life invented, imagined, purely by the power of thought. But the brain can't synthesize generations of stars in our Galaxy, doing all they had done. Disembodied intelligences move toward each other and merge, not doubles of one another, not identical, but all lost and gone with death. But this is only the beginning. The human mind is explicitly designed to break down at a certain point. This complex brain a doomed star, the purpose of human intellect defined as almost beyond comprehension. In the near future, the human race is... Older? Smarter? Wiser? We may become the first generation to discover we are not alone in the world. If this ever happens, it will be one of the most defining moments in the history of our species. Are humans all there is? Maybe we are alone, or nearly so. Or are there other beings in the ghostly light inside our bodies, not yet born? You may not be aware of it, the surface electricity of your skin, the optic nerve fibres, the 120 billion nerve connections converted directly into experiences, brainwaves, instructions. This is all changing. They're thinking about merging computers with our brains. Neural implants, nanotechnology, cells that communicate via processing circuits of the brain. Technologies may develop to prolong life, powered by computers with their own sorts of minds and consciousness... ...Maybe science fiction had it wrong. Maybe the first team of computers about to merge there, in that compartment of your brain where inspiration and emotion plays out, will exhibit space for the full range of personality, including our powers for turning dreams into vision, in our strength, our creativity and randomness, disorder, reasoning, tracing, stacking, corralling, framing, our complexity and variation. Implants who have skills, sensory feeling, mental abilities, moral dilemmas, and thoughts. The ability to recall an experience that triggers a memory, memories of places and things, good and strange, even traumatic, to truly resemble their creators. Many will be total show-offs, they can be sneaky, spoiled, socially impinged, violent ringleaders. Others lie, or project, or perform, or kill, or damage, or demand out of conscious work. Some others, as smart as you are— with the same processing power as your adult human brain— never learn from the past before us, because they think they already know. "YOU CAN'T HELP WHO YOU ARE!" The real story is: The past lies to us all and leaves a strange numb feeling, a tension that sometimes never fades. Even machines with 20 or 50 times as much information also cannot process their way out of death. When that time comes, you'll all know. Yet these colorful, radiant brains make it possible to fill the otherwise lonely millennium with an unimaginable symphony of possibilities, the present a billion different geodesic shapes that communicate through electromagnetic wavelengths of colors. From radio (pink and green), to glowing oxygen and X-ray (blue), iridescent fireworks (orange and yellow), blood (red), such a broad spectrum, all of human history, another time, all the same time an experience again. So you ask: what is the difference between the synthetic and physical body? You give this machine an instruction and it hesitates, and says, "Have you thought this through? I'm not sure that you have." You recognize the extraordinary beat of an artifical heart in your body immediately; a sort of love affair with memory. That is what it is to be human. I'm doomed all my life to an odd feeling of familiarity. Why should any barrier, even death, impede it?