#i thought the option to wipe game data was suspicious...

[non-operator]

AAAALKAJSDLKJSDFKLJASLDFSDLKFJKLSDJGKLSDFLKJKLSDFJLKDSFJ😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

was playing the price of flesh bc winter sale and also funny reviews and Hot

And i got all the deaths and unlocked all the collections and everything and started on the secret endings and asdkljfalsdjflksdfjasdlkfjaskldjf

ANd then i find out that one of the achievements (Sacrifice) can only be achieved with zero deaths??????? aklsjdfklajsdlkfjalsdflkajsdflkdsf😭😭😭😭 fuck my life

[imtrashraccoon]

Hey, uh, if you thought I was a good person, I have something to admit.

I did a genocide run a few years ago while playing Undertale. I knew what would happen from watching videos, but I just...had to do it. I had to see every ending even though it meant betraying and murdering the characters I had come to love. Thankfully, Undyne stopped me, and I completely wiped my game data so they would never remember what I did.

This brings me to today. I was playing Graveyard Keeper and progressing the Inquisitor's quest line. There was a dialogue fork with three options. I could either betray a rogue I previously helped start a cult in my basement, give up a talking skull who I had previously promised to protect, or deny knowing anything. Now at first, I denied knowing about any suspicious activity because I would never betray friends to an obviously evil clergyman, but then a little question popped into my head.

What happens if I give either of them up?

So I took to Google because I was not about to go down this dark path for no reason, even though the obviously good option felt unsatisfying. This led me to discovering there is an achievement tied to betraying the talking skull. Naturally, I had to be greedy, and I reset the day just to betray my only friend in this messed up world.

There were no consequences because the Inquisitor thought the skull wouldn't convince the king that there was cult activity in the area, but it still weighs on my conscience. I have a little achievement on my steam profile that will forever shame me for this act. I have not changed, and I fear I will forever be willing to backstab friends just to know what happens and see everything there is to see.

[christophe-delorne]

Gregstophe Week: Day 4

ANGER // SHOVEL & SWORD // APOCALYPSE AU

TITLE: Synthetic Love

WARNINGS: Swearing, smooching.

AGE: Young Adults. ( Early 20s )

NOTES: This is based in the Fallout Universe. You really don't need to know much about the games to enjoy this story since I try not to go into too much detail. Look. I can go into a lot of detail with Fallout, but I'm trying to keep it easy for everyone to enjoy. This is before Gregory turns into huge douchebag mode. So he's a bit of a softie in this story. Thought I'd change it up from my usual.

It was Gregory's first time to breath contaminated air, his first time seeing the actual sun through the haze of dust and the thin layer of contamination that still lingered on the horizon from a war long past. He spent his entire life safe underground, in the clean environment known as the Institute. He'd come from a line of scientists, dated back before the war, lucky enough to survive the nuclear fallout in the safety of their underground labs. Most weren't so lucky, though he wasn't sure who was luckier, the ones who died instantly, or the ones who managed to live and spend generations out here in the wasteland. He pulled his bandanna up from his neck and over the lower portion of his face, in an attempt to filter out at least the dust and grim.

Typically, the institute would send synths up to the surface to do research or gather data, the androids could withstand the dangerous environments of this desolate land. However, he'd volunteered this time to come topside and to do so was no small matter. It wasn't unheard of for a synth to go rouge, there was all sorts of unpredictable factors up here that could damage or corrupt their programming. Mutant creatures attacking, or even the lingering surviving humans who'd grouped up. In order to quell topsiders' rebellious nature, the Institute would use synths to infiltrate their societies, they looked human, could take the place of anyone seamlessly. And that led to paranoia among the wastelanders.

Gregory wasn't interested in that, not any more, he was interested in finding out why this one synth had stopped responding to his- no its' orders. He had to remind himself constantly that this synth was a human, he wouldn't dare let himself be deceived by his own creation. e'd been the chief of processing synths, designing them to blend in with wastelanders until the Institute noticed that his growing interest in synths had become compromised. He'd made one last synth, his masterpiece, one last big 'fuck you' before he was relocated to the research lab. When the synth went rouge a few months later, he'd been sent out to prove his worth and loyalty to the institute.

His synth had travel far to the edges of the commonwealth, formerly known as the New England states of America. What left of it  anyways. Blue eyes stared at the rundown shack before him, surrounded by trees that were ragged looking, nothing like the lush trees within the Institute. Everything looked dreary and rundown. He'd known about it, but to see it with his own eyes was something else. What really drew his gaze was the man churning dirt in what he supposed was some sort of make shift garden, wielding a shovel with ease. One would pass him off as just another farmer trying to make it out here. However, Gregory knew better.

As he made his way closer, the man in the makeshift garden stopped digging, becoming aware of an intruder. Stabbing his shovel into the ground, he turned to look at his new guest. There was a brief expression of surprised recognition before it soured into a scowl, they both knew why he was here. He had to bring C9-25 back to the institute for either to be reprogrammed or destroyed, depending on how cruel the director wanted to be. Gregory could hazard a guess in which choice the man would chose, making this decision harder for Gregory, as it had been intended. Gregory stopped just outside the mangled wire fencing that was more of just a general outline of the garden than really intending to keep anything out.

"The fuck you doin' here?" The voice was harsh, just as Gregory remembered. Callous and rough, a small slight of rebelling against his own superiors.

"You already know the answer to that, Christophe." It was a solemn note, one that hurt to even broach the subject.

"Oh, so its Christophe now." The olive skin toned male wiped the sweat from his forehead, smearing dirt across it. Gregory had to appreciate how human like the synth was. The white tank top sticking to his form from the sweat, artificial sweat but so life like no one would suspect a thing. Gregory had taken care to put his heart and soul in creating him- it. Down to the smallest of scars and the crow's feet in the corner of its eyes. It was no wonder why his co-workers had grown suspicious with his obsession over this one synth.

"You've always been Christophe to me." Gregory countered, pleading almost for some sort of understanding.

"Fuck you and your fuckin' lil' group of prissy bitches who hide away safe and sound underground like cowards." He spat onto the ground as if talking about the Institute left a bad taste in his mouth. Gregory tensed as Christophe approached, heavy boots thudding on the freshly churned, contaminated soil. He was close now, too close. He smelled of sweat and earth, of hard labor, something Gregory had never done. Something he appreciated more than he would let on. All his secret desires and cravings had been placed within this synth. So, did that make him a bad person? Christophe had been designed by him, for him. Morally, it was wrong as Christophe had no personality of his own.

"Christophe, please be reaso-" Gregory was about to try to plead his case when he was suddenly seized by the front of his shirt and dragged forward up onto his toes. Chapped, rough lips crashed against his own before he could even realize what Christophe's intentions were. Panic swelled within him and his heart raced so quickly within his chest, it made his mind far too dizzy to calculate a proper response. However Christophe was all too ready to take advantage of finally finding a way to shut Gregory up, pressing his advantage by tilting his head. Damp warmth traced over the seam of Gregory's smooth lips, leaving a trail of saliva in its wake.

He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, his body no longer seemed to belong to him as Christophe's tongue suddenly invaded the once safe haven of his mouth. He was being swept up in this sudden fiery passion that he'd never experienced before. Certainly he'd kissed other girls, but nothing so wild and reckless as this, it was burning, branding him in his mind so that he'd never forget. It drove away every arguement, every mindless denial until he was left with nothing but his raw emotions. His tongue finally tried to make a press back, to fight back against Christophe conquering tongue, but this only seemed to drive Christophe further into a frenzy.

The synth, much stronger than the average human tried to drag Gregory impossibly closer, needing to feel their bodies pressed closer, to fulfill that secret desire they both had. A noise left Gregory, muffled by their kiss. The fence was digging into his stomach, broken wires digging past clothing and into soft flesh. Finally, Christophe seemed to grow aware of Gregory's pain and let go, leaving Gregory suddenly feeling vacated, Christophe taking all that passionate heat with him within an instant. Swollen lips remained parted, panting in a futile attempt to catch his breath, to remember something sane and reasonable. He was here for a reason, what was that reason again?

"I'm not goin' back, Gregory." That rough voice sounded deeper, drawing Gregory back away from his own internal musings to focus his attention back on Christophe. The synth he was supposed to be bringing back to the institute. If they knew what just happened, he would certainly be punished, perhaps even cast out into the wasteland. Gregory before had never been tempted by his emotions, raised from birth to join the ranks of the greatest minds alive. He was still human though, susceptible to desires and yearnings for things that he knew he shouldn't give in to. He'd failed in that aspect, but out of his failure he'd created Christophe.

There wasn't any other choice, if Gregory didn't bring Christophe back, the institute would just send correctional synths to forcibly destroy Christophe. If Gregory had found Christophe, so could others. There was no alternative to this situation. The Institute couldn't let their secrets, inside Intel just be out in the open, a unknown problem. Any rouge synth usually was either destroyed, had their minds wiped, or were reprogrammed again. Neither were options Gregory exactly liked. He didn't want to think about his creation being destroyed or Christophe forgetting about him. It was odd to feel so strongly about something that was considered a machine, but it hurt to think about the idea that Christophe would roam the wasteland, not knowing what he yearned for.

"You'll certainly be killed if you do not." Gregory tried his best to steady his voice, it was difficult to control his emotions when Christophe had successfully destroyed any sort of defenses he had built around himself. The Institute was a harsh place who prided itself on rational thinking, where emotions were frowned upon and seen as meant for humans with lesser intelligence. To be ruled by them so easily was viewed as shameful and yet here he was, a complete wreck in the time that he needed to have his guard strong.

"I've been thinkin' about that. Let's head west. As far as we can go, until the Institute can't find us, where no one can find us. " Christophe had a stubborn set to his jaw, his green eyes staring down Gregory as if in challenge, waiting for Gregory's protest, expecting it.

The idea of heading out into a world unknown to Gregory was daunting. He was used to a life of clean water and filtered air. Everything was clean and spotless and the only threat was maybe slipping on a freshly mopped floor. He'd seen and heard about the surface, of the mutant creatures that roamed the lands, about human raiders and giant green super mutated humans wrecking just as much havoc. This world was dangerous and Gregory wasn't certain if he would ever be ready to face it. He knew the further west from here grew into more and more desolate wastelands, of deserts and seas of radiation. No one that the Institute knew about had properly mapped out the States.

"Christophe..." He sighed out, already feeling weary by the sheer notion of leaving the safety of the Institute. "You know as well as I that the probability of my survival out here is low to begin with. Boardroom meetings and scientific debates I can face down with ease, but here?" Gregory gestured at their surroundings, it looked like it was free of what Gregory feared, for now.

"Damn it. Have a little more fuckin' faith in yourself, Gregory. I know you, I know you better than any of those damn assholes underground." Christophe ran his fingers through his hair, his gaze lowering to Gregory's lips, as if kissing him again would solve everything. He was right though. Christophe was apart of him, all the intimate details that Gregory put his heart and soul into. He'd never thought he'd be the type to rebel until Christophe came into being, it was the first mark of Gregory's resistance. The spark of his rebellious nature that had laid dormant this whole time, now that Christophe had returns, that spark was being fanned into a flame.

Far too long had it been suppressed, the Director had known the dangers Christophe possessed to the stable underground society. There was no room for independence and rebellion and he'd tried his best to douse the flames Gregory had created. It had been a mistake to send Gregory out, one the Director was not likely to acknowledge. Failure had never been an option, order was absolute. Just thinking about that ideologist churned within him, Gregory did like cleanliness, but he'd created a synth who liked to be dirty. He desired a contrast to excite him, to draw him in away from the boring white walls to the sweat slicked, sun-kissed skin of the man before him.

"I will go with you to the ends of the earth, Christophe, whatever it takes to stay with you."