#color coding these fellas

[ask-redsoldier-tf2]

| Alright, color coding the characters time with italic and bold letters to distinguish them|

Scout (B)

Soldier (B)

Pyro (S)

Demo (B)

Heavy (i)

Engineer

Medic (B, i)

Sniper (i)

Spy (i)

[the-last-patch]

[Tuning In]

[Flipping to B-Side]

[Success]

[Now Playing - “Opossum”]

Good morning omninet, or I suppose it may not be morning wherever you all may be. I wanted to chat with you all today because I have been radio silent as of late. A lot has happened, too much to reasonably explain in a reasonable time period. To put it simply, the situation has changed. Any time we previously thought we had to cut away TKG’s defenses has immediately become lost, they hired assassins to off us. We were already being pursued by TKG themselves, but they were novices compared to us. These assassins though? They’re pros. They’re not simple mercs, pirates, or corpo-soldiers…They’re Lancers.

<“Opossum” goes silent as the recording picks up a whistling noise. It begins faint, but quickly grows in volume culminating in a solid impact followed by a deafening explosion.>

…They’ve been firing those all night. We fortified a position for now, but they have plenty of ammo to spare tearing it up. We think they’re being remotely restocked by TKG’s shopping drones. Regardless they seem to be getting impatient, it feels like they could leap at us any second now. Honestly, I should be terrified right now. In any other circumstance I would have been well out of action and unconscious, but luckily I just got a fresh batch of stuns from the doc. I couldn’t tell you the details regarding them, I’m a techie not a medic, but they numb the bad senses and heighten the good ones. That means that despite knowing this is a bad situation, I’m excited to see what happens.

<Another artillery shell goes off, this one a bit farther than the first.>

I’m sending this message to say a final goodbye to you all if I don’t make it out. This isn’t a declaration of my death either though. I have too much unfinished business to simply lay down and let these fools walk over me. After all, I’ve got to claim that cassette from you Ren, and I fully intend on visiting you out in constellar space in the future Hachi. Honestly I don’t even know why I bothered saying this there’s no way in hell these bastards are gett-

[ERROR - Playback Failed]

[ERROR - Tape Obstructed]

[Attempting Fix]

[FAILED]

[Retrying]

[FAILED]

[End Track]

[fawnssy]

ART DROPS YAAAAY YIPPEE

starting with chrissy - wissy !!!! ( used these for my rp account.. )

and the newer version of cheshire cat!ray.. evil creature bent on world domination.. he probably ate someone who knows

[meshaamem-li]

ok so i decided on a whim that I'm gonna try to sew @askoverkill 's Director with whatever scrap fabrics I have at home. so I'm gonna think out loud in a tumblr post because i have no idea if I even have enough materials for this.

so I currently have:

white minky

white t-shirt sleeve (stretchy knitted fabric idk what it's called, like regular tshirt fabric)

gray tshirt (stretchy)

black tshirt (stretchy)

black satin (i think??? some sort of plastic-y woven fabric i forgor)

dark red scraps (woven, not stretchy, a pain in the ass to work with)

red embroidery floss (and other colors if needed)

red heat transfer print thingie! literally the only reason I can make any of this because I don't have any scrap fabric in the right shade of red.

i worked on a very confusing 5 minutes sketch of the fabric to think in my head how I can use the fabrics I have to make this plush:

(reference images made by @/askoverkill ofc)

wtf bro why so many colors? it's my super stupid color coding

black: parts made of minky

green: parts made of the assortment of scrap fabrics

blue: embroidered parts

red: parts colored in with the red heat transfer print thingie!

more detailed unhinged ramblings under the cut, also go read this isat AU its amazing 10/10

rn my worst problem is that I don't have black minky, because the entirety of the director's body and half xer face is black. now either I color it with a sharpie (gonna stink the plushie and will probably wash off), or I use the black satin to cover those parts up (gonna look and feel like shit), or I buy more fabric (will take a month to arrive and costs monee ;^;), or I find an actual smart way to color the minky. oh wait actually I have black minky with 3mm pile, but that will make him a furry little fella and might look weird with the 1.5mm pile white minky. ill figure it out.

the red skirt is in the reference sheet but not in the plushie meme drawing so I'm electing to ignore it because I don't think I can just use the heat transfer print thingie to do it like with the hat and sleeve!!! sorry! I can do the bow tho!

I don't have any bells but I can probably find some at a craft store somewhere if I have time to pass through one at some point next weekend idfk. I could make some from polymer clay just to get the illusion but I don't wanna stink the oven... worst case scenario just pretend they're there ig?

i didn't finish my base sitting plushie prototype so this will probably not be done until that's done and I put that one aside to work on a gift for a friend so oopsie this is gonna take longer than I thought, at this rate I can just order the black minky and some random red fabric online and start working on it when they arrive. idfk.

im so making this before the hyperfixation gets overcome by procrastination. i can to it. i will do it. watch me. ill make her tiny if I have to to make it easier to finish in time but I WILL do it.

[dontcallthedoctor]

Skittles Goes to the Amazing Digital Circus! Announcement (+ Auditions and Casting Call)

Hiya, fellas! I've got a very special and important announcement to drop out of the blue today. For the past couple months, I've been hard at work starting up pre-production on an Amazing Digital Circus fan film!!!

Skittles Goes to the Amazing Digital Circus! is a passion project I've been slowly developing with some close friends of mine, including @mikiib, @cluelesscleo, @jeggyweggy, @tomatertate, @endomentendo, @apatchydragon, @pizzycrisisline, @sillycringychaoskitty and MANY, MANY more! You all are some of the funniest, sweetest, most talented people I've ever known and I love you all so much. I am so honored and thankful to be able to call you all friends <3

Skittles Goes to the Amazing Digital Circus is, in it's current state, intended to be a feature length animatic. It acts as both a continuation of Digital Circus' story, and as unofficial backdoor pilot to the Skittles universe. I originally envisioned it as being fully animated, but of course if we took that route, we'd end up working on this twice as long as we need to. The compromise is that it'll be made as a (hopefully) colored animatic (just the key frames with limited animation), fully voiced and scored.

(Note: It'd be a good idea to look at my previous post where I discuss the character Skittles in-depth, otherwise some aspects of this story might not make sense!)

Premise:

The story (so far) follows Skittles, a pre-teen axolotl boy who, while browsing Gbay, finds a listing for a blank disc with the words "TADC (NOT FOR DISTRIBUTION) scrawled on it in red, blue, and yellow marker. After checking the description, he realizes that it's a recovered copy of the game The Amazing Digital Circus, described as "an experimental early/mid-ninties game of mysterious origin and design". Skittles likes the sound of it and buys it. After some initial trouble with the installation process, Skittles is sent an email from a mysterious sender who claims to be someone trapped inside the game. They plead with him NOT TO PLAY THE GAME, but to look into it and figure out a way to free them from the outside.

So Skittles does what any of us would do. He plays the game after this obviously-disheveled stranger pleads with him NOT to. Of course, this leads to him being sucked straight through his monitor into The Amazing Digital Circus! Once inside, he meets the circus gang and is given his orientation by Caine.

As the humans get to know Skittles, they begin to notice a few strange things about him. For starters, unlike them, he (apparently) looks the same here as he did before he dropped in. He also remembers his name and retains most of his memories from the outside world. It isn't until the next morning, when Caine awakes without his powers, that things get really odd.

Evidentially, sometime in the night, some fluke in the game's code causes Skittles to be bumped up in the digital hierarchy, giving him all of Caine's powers, effectively making him the ringmaster by default! Caine becomes disheartened, feeling this is some divine punishment for his shortcomings as ringmaster and his constant inability to please his guests. Feeling unwanted and useless, Caine leaves behind his hat and cane and exiles himself from the circus, travelling far off into the Void where he can't cause anybody and harm.

Meanwhile, the bewildered circus gang are left to deal with the newly appointed Ringmaster Skittles, who makes it clear that he has no idea what he's doing. Despite his newfound powers, he's still just a kid and proves to be utterly incompetent at running the circus. Not only is his young brain not mentally ready for the responsibility, but the "ringmaster protocol" gradually starts to take over his mind, making him just as bonkers as Caine was if not worse. With the fate of the circus hanging in the balance, it's up to the circus crew, realizing how much they truly need Caine, to bring him back and restore order... or the Digital Circus may never be the same...

Originally, this started off as more of a "what-if" scenario with no real story behind it, but the more I mulled over it with friends, the more we realized this could actually make for a really cool story. Once it was decided that Skittles should take over the circus and become the ringmaster, the rest of the premise fell into place. Granted, the story isn't completely plotted out yet, but the beats are all there. In the end, Skittles helps the circus gang to further appreciate one another, but most importantly, to appreciate the asset they have in Caine. For his part, Caine learns how to listen better, to relate, and also how he can make life in the circus better for everyone, hopefully without compromising his vision or ideas.

Currently we're looking for artists (concept/storyboardists, line artists, background artists mainly) voice actors (for Ragatha, Jax, Kinger, Caine and Bubble) a couple writers and composers. Production isn't super far along in terms of content, but I'll post a handful of sketches and concepts that everyone's drawn up!

If anyone is interested and would like to take part, feel free to DM me, either here on Tumblr or at my Discord (anunmadebed)! I'm really looking forward to working with ppl and hearing what y'all think Abt this! Words cannot describe how damn EXCITED I am I'm stimming so hard rnnn

(So sorry if that seemed like a mess, I get really nervous talking about things I'm passionate about in public ^^)

[ddarker-dreams]

Nexus II.

Yandere Blade x F Reader.

Warnings: Descriptions of Blade's body regeneration ability, Blade is just kinda weird idk, some spoilers for his backstory. Word count: 6k.

Nexus index.

The LOTUS-EATER’s maximum capacity tops out at 124. This number takes current fire codes and oxygen generator parameters into account. There are eight Arbiters — including yourself — and fifteen other employees who work The Club floor on rotation. Additionally, some automatons assist with carrying refreshments to clients. Lucky for you, those fellas aren’t on the payroll. 

The other twenty-two are, though. 

Nona swings her legs back and forth while sitting on the main bar’s countertop, humming a song from an underground band she likes. She’s sent you a link to their discography enough times that you recognize the URL immediately and know not to tap on it. 

“Hey, mom, dad, we’re on the news. ‘IPC Places Eris Under Temporary Travel Ban While Investigating Claims of Fraud’. Why didn’t anyone tell me we were doing fraud? Was I not invited to the group chat?” Nona hums. 

You glance up from your account book, sigh, then glance back down.

Meanwhile, Lear carries a hefty wooden crate from the back and places it on the floor. The sound of muffled glass clinking together can be heard, along with liquid sloshing.

“You shouldn’t make jokes like that,” he frowns. He shoos her off the counter with a wet rag, to which she takes refuge behind you. He rolls his eyes at her shenanigans, ties up his sandy hair, then gets to cleaning. “People could get the wrong idea. It’d tarnish [First]’s reputation.” 

Snickering, she replies, “And casually referring to Our-Lord-And-Savior-The-Exalted-One by her first name wouldn’t?” 

He bristles. “You…!” 

On instinct, he winds up his arm, wielding the now dirty rag as his ammunition. He pauses when Nona points at you. Seeing that there’s no way to hit his target without you joining the casualties, he huffs, and returns to shining glasses, using excessive force this time. 

Nona sticks her tongue out at him. After celebrating her victory, she situates herself on a nearby barstool, stretching her arms out beside your workspace like a content cat preparing to nap. 

“You’ve been staring at that silly book forever,” she notes, exasperation coloring her tone. “I know you aren’t reading it, either. Your eyes give you away. So, what’s up?” 

You shuffle in your seat. This line of questioning was inevitable as the four moons that hang everlasting in the sky, taking in everything as impartial observers. During instances like this, you envy the marvelous masses, how they can exist peacefully without living. No one asks the moon troubling questions. Or, if they do, they have more pressing issues at hand than their spoken query. 

“It’s nothing,” you dismiss. 

She blows a tuft of hair from her face. “Hey, Lear.”

“Mm?”

“Did you hear that?”

“Well, yes, I’m only standing a few feet away.” 

“Right, right. Let me ask a trickier question then, since that one was obviously way too easy for someone of your intellect. Do you believe her?”

“I…” he swallows thickly. “... Yes?”

Nona throws her arms up. “Gah! I’m surrounded by liars who can’t lie. That’s almost worse than liars who can lie— blegh, hey, did you actually throw a rag at me?” 

The rag in question slides down the side of her head and hits the ground with a sad squelch. 

“I’ll do it again too. You shouldn’t bother [First]—” Lear abruptly cuts himself off at the last syllable of your name, “The exalted one when she’s trying to concentrate.” 

You raise your head and frown. “Lear, I told you. Call me by my name when it’s just us. It feels wrong if you don’t.” 

“Seriously? That’s what gets your attention?” Nona laments. 

You both elect to ignore her. 

“I know, I know. It’s just… what if he comes back?” 

Silence descends and clings to the three of you like the suffocating scent of smoke. It’s there again, the uncomfortable, skin-prickling sensation of eyes sticking to you. Amber and sapphire coalesce into one, unspoken plea, forming a disconcerting shade. Nona’s visage betrays nothing, whereas Lear’s concern would be obvious from galaxies away. 

You square your shoulders and try to make yourself appear as decisive as you need to sound. “I’ll know when he’s back. He’ll text so I can let him in.” 

The two exchange knowing looks. It’s Nona who tries her luck. 

“That’s reassuring and all, but, I think the question Lear wanted to ask is why that man’s here in the first place.” 

Magenta eyes, rosy iris’, words that drip like venom-coated honey. 

When you asked how you should explain Blade’s presence to your staff, she told you she’d hate to abuse her authority, and that you’re free to decide those specifics yourself. You would’ve preferred some guidance or hint at her expectations in such a pivotal situation. It’s easier to avoid a landmine if you know how to best watch your step. The uncharacteristic lack of instructions goes on to birth unease. 

“My answer hasn’t changed. He’s here to act as my bodyguard until some concerns are settled.” 

Nona’s lips twist to the side. “You never wanted a bodyguard before.” 

“I never needed one before.” 

A glass shatters violently. 

You and Nona snap your head toward the noise’s origin, finding Lear’s face wound tight in pain. You both jump the counter. The remains of crystal shards are strewn across the floor, catching and refracting light. Watching your step, you make your way over to Lear, who is muttering expletives under his breath. 

No, that isn’t right, you realize. His lips aren’t moving. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he tries waving off Nona, who is inspecting the hand that held the glass, “Just an accident, s’all.” 

The private tumult boiling in his head threatens to overflow, stating loud and clear thoughts no one other than himself should be privy to. You grimace and focus on blocking the intrusive voice out. It’s so resounding, so sharp, that snippets penetrate through and spill their scathing secrets.  

‘My fault — should’ve killed — now she’s — because of me…!’ 

Block it out, block it out, block it out, you chant the mantra incessantly. 

Lear’s psyche wishes to illuminate itself to you in its entirety. The spotlights turn on one by one, focusing intently on the visible portion of the stage that any audience member can see. The overlapping beams penetrate the stage’s back curtain, revealing the silhouettes of the backstage crew. 

You don’t want to witness these delicate inner workings. It isn’t for your eyes, his thoughts aren’t for your ears. Sins committed in days past grant you a front-row seat and sew your eyes wide open. You haven’t attended this theater in some time, so it brought the show to you. 

It requires great effort to struggle against the needle and thread that wants to practice its stitches on you. This pain that feels like your skull is being crushed beneath an anchor could ease away if you were a good audience member who sat still and mute. You resist subservience at the cost of yourself. Eventually, the lights dim. The stage’s back curtain turns opaque. The actors shift their shouts into a normal speaking volume, a whisper, then finally, stop orating altogether. 

Your mind’s dictation is decided by you — the ink of Lear’s thoughts expunged. 

You’re aware of your physical surroundings again. 

Presently, you’re crouching down on the floor. You move your foot back to maintain balance, and there’s a crunch, warning you to tread carefully. You inhale and exhale shakily. At this sign of lucidity, Nona and Lear crowd over you, repeating your name on a loop. You check twice to ensure their mouths are indeed moving and you aren’t hearing what you shouldn’t. Once you dispel your fears, relief embraces you. 

This paroxysm has run its course.

Nona’s shoulders slump. “It’s okay, it’s over. She fixed it.” 

They both hold their breath until you nod in agreement. 

Lear extends his hand to help stand you up, to which Nona swats at it. 

“No touching,” she reminds. Sternness doesn’t sound right in her cadence. He considers arguing, only to decide against it. His fingers twitch, go still, then recede. 

You have to stand on your own strength. 

Neither of them knows what to say in the immediate aftermath — it’s been so long that they’re out of practice. While they think over the best-sounding platitudes, you spare your phone a glance. Several messages mar the screen from an unknown sender. The most recent is time-stamped at five minutes ago. 

You grumble a few choice words. 

“Mr. Personality is back?” Nona asks. 

“Yeah, I’ll handle it,” you close your account book and fold it under your arm. “You both should head home, it’s late. Just let Loopy take care of the glass shards.” 

Nona gives a mock salute. After a moment’s consideration, Lear nods. 

And so the three of you part ways. 

Your fingers blindly grope at the expanse beneath your desk. Finally, you come in contact with a protrusion, then press it. Electricity thrums then turns hushes. For peace of mind, you glide your hand through the air. A holographic keyboard flickers into existence and responds to your vigorous keystrokes. The monitor reads that your noise-canceling software is up to date. It prevents sound waves from escaping a perimeter you’ve set. It’s installed in every room on the second floor, which includes the private rooms in The Lounge, your office, and the bedroom attached to said office. 

Ever since Kafka started slinking around, the software’s uptime has increased exponentially. 

Unlike Kafka, Blade doesn’t sit across from you or relax on the couch against the silver-colored wall. He stands by the door that leads to the hallway like a statue. He hasn’t so much as uttered a word to you since you let him in, not that you put in much effort to rouse conversation. It isn’t as childish as him ignoring you, either, you swear his eyes haven’t left you for a millisecond. 

The keyboard and monitor dissipate at the flick of your wrist. 

“I know I said I didn’t have anything major scheduled this week, but the IPC’s new policy changes things,” you start. Still no reaction. Frowning, you continue, “I’ll have to break the house arrest you’ve imposed.” 

He doesn’t so much as blink. You thought a little provocation might earn you some material to work with, but you thought wrong. 

“Who will be there?” Blade asks. 

Instead of experiencing relief that he’s broken his vow of silence, tension coils its barbed limbs around you. It refuses to squeeze or apply any pressure. No, it intentionally denies you that, for it knows pain precedes understanding. A motive, an intention. Any degree of emotion is better than an unknowable void. Frustration, you can soothe, doubt, you can dispel, but total apathy? That’s a nightmare crossed into reality. 

“The other two leaders of the quadrants and myself.” 

At long last, there's a sign he is indeed a sentient lifeform and not the latest android model. A flash passes over his eyes. Suspicion or disbelief, perhaps. 

“Shouldn’t there be four leaders, if the city’s divided into quadrants?” 

“That’s a fair assumption. As far back as our records date, the southwestmost quadrant, Arc, has rejected the idea of having any fixed governance. They act however they see fit. It’s where that man who attacked me a few cycles back was sent to, since we look down on involuntary confinement.” 

“The prison planet without prisons,” Blade’s wry wording belies his flat tone. 

It’s always been a divisive topic, earning scorn and acclaim alike. You’ve had the misfortune of listening to clients regurgitate talking points that were made digestible by popular media, who started the cycle by devouring journal articles they read one paragraph of. They repeat what’s been said thousands of times with the bravado of the original theorist. Normally, you’d consider it more agreeable to bash your head against a wall than speak on the exhausted topic. 

So why is it a kindling of intrigue burns by a Stellaron Hunter’s offhand comment? 

“What’s this? The wanted criminal isn’t a proponent of prison abolition?” 

“Every decision comes at a price,” he says. “Sins should be punished.” 

You blink. Sins? Punishment? Is this a textbook case of cognitive dissonance, or another beast entirely? 

“What do you consider a sin?” 

“Anything that defies the natural order.” 

“Such as…?” 

The maelstrom that envelops him is potent enough for you to feel it breathing down your neck. Your body prickles all over. 

“Defying death.” 

“Not inflicting it?” 

“No,” Blade’s response is immediate, straight from the heart. “Taking life is permissible. It’s accelerating the inevitable.” 

This callous sentiment should chill you — maybe it would, if you heeded the alarm bells ringing in your mind — but fascination triumphs over any deterrent. This isn’t a creed one stumbles into by happenstance, it’s a burden made to order. His preoccupation with death is personal. A necessity. 

“Show me what it’s like to die.”

Is this request self-flagellation or redemption? 

If you’re ever to fulfill the Synalink you promised, you’ll need to dig deeper. 

“There are ‘sins’ committed with altruistic intentions, though.” 

“Hah,” he barks out a bitter laugh. “Those… those are the worst kind.” 

This is a personal slight he’s grappling with. The shards scattered around him like stardust condense, though the sight they create remains out of focus. It doesn’t have to be a sharp picture for you to discern its immense stature. 

Each person’s psyche is distinct in its manifestation. This image is a culmination of everything that defines them. Their core values, history, relationships, culture, ambitions both met and not fully realized; these colors leave an indelible imprint. In truth, this detailed representation is but a single dot amidst an ocean of stars. The mind of a sentient being must be vast if it is capable of ascending to an Aeon’s status. Still, you need something to work with, even if it doesn’t encompass the full scope. A pianist cannot play their instrument if there are no keys. 

This scale, this sheer magnitude that towers higher the more you crane your neck up, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever encountered. 

“... You’re going to give me a run for my money, Mr. 8.13 billion,” you murmur. “Your head looks like a warzone.” 

He leans against the wall with a hmph.

“With all your impending problems, that’s what you choose to focus on?” 

“I can multitask.” 

“Can you?” He challenges. Sensing your confusion, he elaborates. “You look awful.” 

Blade must be irresistible across all genders with that nuanced level of word crafting. 

“I appreciate your candidness,” you deadpan. 

He shakes his head at your sarcasm. “Don’t act obtuse. Your complexion’s off, your eyes are bloodshot… everything was fine when I left. Must have something to do with your earlier delay, I take it?” 

You underestimated his acumen. This would explain why he’s been sizing you up since you opened the door. His sword proficiency isn’t the only threat you should be wary of. You know to be mindful of your presentation when Kafka’s skulking about, you didn’t think he’d need to be treated with a similar caution.

“It’s nothing serious, just your typical mental overexertion. There’s a lot on my plate, you said so yourself.” 

“Hm.” 

Whether he believes you or not, the conversation is left at that. 

Transportation on Eris functions differently than what’s commonly found in other worlds. 

Traditional gas-based motors aren’t favored due to the frigid climate. Instead, a gemstone mined in the Nectary by vetted groups is the preferred resource. It contains special thermodynamic properties that can emit immense power under the correct conditions. The gemstones have been altered and assembled in such a way that they function as a railroad for insulated cabins to travel from one station to another. These paths were nicknamed 'nectar guides’ or ’guides’ by the first engineers to embed them in the ground. This is in reference to how the eight main paths lead to Perianth II’s center, built above the Nectary. 

The design serves a dual purpose — it optimizes travel and the heat radiating from the ground produces light. The accommodations have outworlders in mind. Your species, the Nymphalians, have long undergone enough natural selection to survive the hostile conditions fine enough. Your species’ eyesight excels in the dark and your physiology resists the cold. Aside from that, your body functions identical to any other humanoid species. The lone visible difference is a thin white ring around most Nymphalians’ iris’. You and Lear display this quality, Nona does not. 

The cabin you sit in has a quaint design. There are plush, brown loveseats lining the wall, glowing orange lights in the arched ceiling, and light refreshments atop wooden table stands. It’s split into a common area and a bedroom suite. More enchanting than any ornate embellishment are the expansive windows. You only get to see your quadrant in person during these trips to Perianth II’s center and back. 

“You warm enough?” You call over to Blade, who is bundled in extra layers of clothes and wearing an especially dour expression. 

He doesn’t dignify your quip with a verbal reply. 

This brief jaunt has earned his ire. For someone who’d likely prefer to be anywhere else, he’s taking this guard assignment quite seriously. He explained that taking this straightforward travel route begs for people with nefarious intent to come slithering out. You could see his point, but the matter isn’t up for dispute. Recent cyberattacks have called electronic communication into question. What you’ll be discussing with the others — Chrysus of Ade and Caicias of Mele — is highly sensitive information. The IPC catching any sliver of it could prove disastrous. 

“You shouldn’t be by the windows,” Blade eventually says.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a major buzzkill?” 

Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t respond. 

With some reluctance, you pry yourself away from the glass granting access to the outside world. 

“... Just a bit longer?” You try plucking a sympathetic cord he distinctly lacks. 

“If you like it so much, why not experience it in the safety of your room where your head is a less visible target?”  

“It isn’t possible to perform a Synalink on yourself.” 

“Have an underling do it.” 

The presumptions air to this suggestion eliminates any grace you may have extended.

“The only other Arbiter capable of performing Synalinks on me was my mother,” you say. “Note the past tense.” 

You experience a phantasmal ripple with him as the epicenter. It’s the weakest emotion you’ve inadvertently picked up from him, so you assume it’s nothing of consequence. 

“Passing blurs aren’t worth risking your life over.” 

You rise to your feet. 

“How do you know that?” You challenge, heat rushing to your cheeks. “These homes, these buildings, these streets… they’re either data on my screen or conveyed to me through someone who acts like they’re listing parts in a machine. I have to see it. I have to commit each ‘passing blur’ to memory. Otherwise…” 

What have I sacrificed my freedom for? 

Blade’s eyebrows furrow. 

“Otherwise…” you shake your head. “Forget it.” 

During the ensuing silence, your phone buzzes. 

You had set it on do not disturb for the upcoming meeting. A few contacts were granted an exception, meaning that this message must be urgent if it went through. You swallow the lump growing in your throat. An exhausted part of yourself reasons that it can wait until the meeting’s conclusion. It wouldn’t do you any good to get worked up beforehand, would it? The message will still be there when it’s finished. Then you’ll be able to commit all your bandwidth to its contents. This reasoning is a tempting mistress cooing at you to come join her in bed. The momentary relief will be as sweet as the aftertaste is bitter. 

Responsibility triumphs in the end. After inputting the necessary passcodes, a message four words long scrawls across your screen.

The product is ready. 

A simple code had been devised between you and the alchemist entrusted with testing Kafka’s synthetic tonic. The product isn’t ready yet would mean the sly woman bluffed, or at the very least, exaggerated her 70% comparison claim. You’d gladly take either. She’s sewn deceit before, she’d have no trouble doing it again. In case the alternative was true, you prepared another code; the code you just received. 

You reread it once. Twice, then thrice. You check if the message came from the right number. It did. You check again. 

This frantic fixation consumes you to such a degree, you don’t register the cabin jerking aside. The delay from your reflexes throws your equilibrium off. Squeezing your eyes shut, you brace yourself for an unceremonious rendezvous with the floor. Your right side does come into contact with a hard surface, except it’s sooner than you anticipated. Warmer, too. 

This heat is different from what’s produced inside the Nectary’s gemstones. It’s personal, containing the distinct thrum of life. There’s also an aroma. Slightly floral, mostly spices you don’t recognize. Then there’s this steady sound — consistent enough to put a metronome to shame. A slow thump, thump, thump. 

“How have you survived this long, clumsy as you are?” 

Blade isn’t speaking any louder than he normally would, but you can hear him better. 

“Hey, I’m… not… clumsy…?” 

It’s only when you open your eyes that you’re able to piece together your current predicament. 

Blade’s steadying you by your shoulders and your cheek is pressing against his chest. You always knew he was tall, but having him tower over you this close gives you a new perspective. As does the fact he doesn’t immediately shove you off after breaking your fall. Your body goes stiff enough to rival rigor mortis.

“Accident prone, then.”  

This swipe has you desperate to reaffirm your authority. “You should’ve just… let me fall then! Maybe I wanted to, what do you know!” 

(It sounded better in your head). 

“Are you positive you’re over a century old?” 

An equally snarky rebuttal blooms on your tongue, only to immediately wither, turning to ash that coats the ground. 

There’s the sound of a dying star, a dirge announcing the end. 

What one hears before their name is reduced to an epitaph or an alphabetized list neatly organizing the recently deceased. It’s loud, then it isn’t. Hideous, then hypnotizing. Yellows and oranges and reds swirling in a serpentine motion that mocks you for thinking you ever conquered it. Civilizations can temporarily subdue it, bend it to their will, but it’s not ever truly theirs. The sovereignty of flame is a dynasty everlasting. It may rise, it may fall, but it can’t ever be truly extinguished. 

You’re sent flying back with enough power that the air is forced from your lungs. It’s as if an Aeon’s hand had pushed your body aside, dragging you to the edge of the universe. You’re released from the scorching maw and into an icy nothingness. 

The planet itself is frozen for a time. 

There’s no strength in your body. Your system has been injected with pure, raw adrenaline, causing your limbs to shake and ignore your commands. Your ears are ringing and your eyesight is blurry. Tears cleanse the pollutants from your eyes. A dark swath covers your body, its weight hindering your feeble attempts to move. Determination alone wills you to emerge from this shadowy cocoon. 

The ringing fades and all is quiet, save for the crackling of fire. 

Then the screaming begins. 

You try identifying the source. You think you may have found it, then it starts elsewhere, a different pitch, a different soul lot in lament. Bloodcurdling shrieks rise alongside the thick smoke. You’re being a stretch of buildings that loom imposingly, obsidian spires reaching up to the night sky. The masonry required to maintain their reign basks in the flames. The unusual surplus of light unveils its secrets, from the cracks in the stone to the faded graffiti bored kids left behind. 

The ground is uneven, unlike the glossy pavement found in the entertainment district. This dull, grayish-blue soil with the consistency of fine powder exhibits the true nature of Eris’ untreated exterior. It’s cool to the touch and takes pleasure at the chance to stain your fine clothes. 

Your wandering mind is brought back upon hearing a sputter nearby. You’re not sure where you are, what you’re doing, or why you’re doing it; but you remember you weren’t alone. 

“Blade…” The name comes out as a croak. “Where…?” 

You can’t call out to him, it’s like cotton has been stuffed down your esophagus. 

There’s movement in the corner of your eye. 

You make the mistake of trying to stand. Your arms might’ve begun to heed your commands, but your legs do not. The worst insurrectionists are your ankles. The instant you try putting any weight on them, they collapse as if you were a newborn doe. Recognizing this strategy’s incompetence, you drag yourself over to where you saw movement instead. The coarse ground rubs at and scratches your skin. 

Upon closer inspection, your heart stops. 

The dark swath — that’s Blade. 

He’s in a far worse state than you. His entire backside has been scorched, displaying angry red blisters and split skin just barely hanging on. His right arm is bent in an awkward position, most certainly broken. Then there’s his left arm, or lack of it. Clumps of limp sinew hang where his arm should be joined to his shoulder joint. The force of the impact must’ve blown it off or eviscerated it entirely. 

He’s lying on his side, facing away from you. A pool of blood forms beneath him, mixing with the soil. The coupling results in a sickly mauve that creeps and seeps inch by inch. 

The fire… it’s coming from the guides, you realize. The cabin has been torn to pieces!

This begs the question: how are you alive? 

You should be covered in burns at the very least. Some of your clothes got charred, you think a rib or two might be broken, but you’re living and breathing. There’s a gap in your memory where the previous events should be. You try recalling whatever you can, no matter how seemingly insignificant. You were moved aside as the roaring got louder, and then there was the sound of glass shattering, heat to cold… 

Blade must have intervened. Did he use the few seconds before the fire caught up to break the window and toss you out? That can’t be right; you’d have glass entrenched in your skin and burns on whichever side faced the explosion. Surely, with his inhuman reflexes, he could’ve come out relatively unscathed. 

Unless he chose to shield you. 

You don’t think, you just act. First, by tearing the hem of your long skirt, then second, pressing it against the gaping wound where his shoulder abruptly ends. Gushes of crimson spill through your first makeshift bandage. You throw it aside, rip at your garments again, repeating the process in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. A Stellaron Hunter must have a robust constitution, right? He was able to act faster than you could think. He can survive this — you just need to stop the bleeding until you can get help. Kafka has to have connections with advanced medical factions. 

Tears stream down your face and you sniffle relentlessly. Your hands are caked in soot and blood, the scent of burnt skin and metal clings to your nostrils. Is he going to die? Is he already dead? You can’t bring yourself to check his pulse. How could he be willing to die for you in the short period of time you’ve known one another? He could’ve concocted any excuse for why he failed Kafka’s assignment, you’re certain he’s more indispensable to their cause than you are. 

Blade stirs. 

You think that it’s your imagination playing tricks on you. A cruel joke to remind you that you make your living off shaping reality for others, temporarily giving them what they want at the price of never truly having it. 

Or so is your conviction until he moves again. 

You’ve heard of muscles twitching after death to give the false impression of life. However, you’ve never witnessed the phenomenon yourself. Is this how it works? It isn’t sporadic, his right arm is sweeping over the ground, fingers flexing. Much to your astonishment, he pushes himself up with the arm that was contorted into a horrible shape a minute ago. The pain he’s experiencing must be excruciating and yet he merely grunts as he shifts into a sitting position. 

“Stop moving,” you rasp out. With your most recent bandage in hand, you go to apply pressure to the left arm socket. 

He responds to your fervent desperation in a low, gravelly voice. 

“Don’t bother.” 

Don’t bother? Is he in a coherent state of mind? If you don’t attend to his gushing wound, he’s at risk of bleeding out. You prepare to ignore his utterance when a strange sight freezes you in place. 

A white structure emerges from his raw, mangled arm socket, descending like water pouring from a pitcher. It solidifies and takes the shape of a humerus. Once finished, it goes on to create the radius and ulna. Next are the carpals, metacarpals, then phalanges. Tendons join them together, fibrous muscles envelop the bones. Finally, in the blink of an eye, fresh layers of skin build atop one another in sheets. He clenches and unclenches his newly formed hand. 

If defying death is a sin, he is laden in iniquity.

“What hurts?” Blade asks. 

You’re too aghast to respond. His body just stitched itself back together without any medical treatment or esoteric healing techniques. Is it possible you’re hallucinating? Can a visual hallucination be this vivid? 

He reaches out. Seconds prior to his hand coming into contact with your bare skin, you furiously shake your head, flailing backward and narrowingly avoiding him. His eyes bore down on you like molten magma. He retracts his hand after a drawn-out pause. 

“If you can’t speak, point instead.” 

Dazedly, you follow his instructions, focusing primarily on your ankles. They’ve swollen since you last checked. The flesh is tender and puffy. 

“I’ll carry you,” he says. “Stay still.”

“Wait,” you manage to wheeze out. “This area… residential… have to help…!”

A coughing spell cuts your hoarse plea short. 

“That explosion was meant for you. Whoever set it off will want to ensure their job’s success.”

Blade reaches out for you again. You duck to avoid his grasp, despite the pain throbbing in your chest cavity from the hasty movement. The adrenaline must be fading if your brain is doing inventory on the damage you’ve sustained, rather than focusing on survival. Hot waves test your resolution. You grit your teeth. If you make a show of your pain, he’s not going to change his decision. 

He speaks your name in a low, warning tone. 

Adamant in your refusal, you point to where the cries for help are the loudest. 

“It’s not my priority,” he says. 

He easily grabs you on his third try and you yelp. The sluggishness of his previous attempts must've been out of consideration for you. His right arm interlocks behind your knees while the left supports your back. You thrash to no avail, his grip remains ironclad. Your struggles amount to nothing but perspiration clinging to your skin and more aches. 

The nearest medical unit to this street is at least thirty minutes away, now that the guides are out of order, you think. That isn’t fast enough…! Every second counts!

In your panic, a sacred vow made decades ago is desecrated. 

You cup Blade’s face in your shaky hands and stare him straight in the eye. 

The previously formed shards come into focus.

It’s monumental, this psyche you’ve barged into without permission. A violation of another’s autonomy. You know this, you condemn yourself for it, yet you press on nevertheless. The previously unknowable architecture that hulks over you is of Xianzhou design. It’s pieced together by bricks as infinite as the stars in the universe, though there is no magnificent shine, only matte stonework. 

This structure… is it a garrison? You wonder. Was Blade a member of the… what’s the name of their military again… Cloud Knights? 

You’ve had Cloud Knight clients before. Their psyches take the likeness of their favorite, scenic expanse on the Hexafleet, the area that they cared for enough to risk their life. The skies would be blue, clouds fluffy and prolific. A sense of duty and patriotism felt palpable. Occasionally, you’d be made privy to grief’s scent carried on a breeze, perhaps from a loved one’s passing or comrade’s untimely death in battle. 

This is a riddle you need to solve swiftly. With a little tampering, you can form a link. It’s immoral, a blight to your personal code, but you’ll leverage enough influence for Blade to stay and help any survivors until help arrives. Whatever consequences arise can be dealt with later. 

Even with the heightened mental sensitivity from making direct physical contact, this is proving a challenge. You can see his psyche but you can’t interact with it. It’s like running your hands through vapor. For you to successfully exert enough influence to change a decision he’s dead set on, you’ll need to go deeper. Inside this fortress sits the recesses of his mind, the bottom of an ocean you’re merely skimming the surface of. The intrusion’s necessity twists your gut as if your intenses were being kneaded. 

Your incorporeal form flutters to the gates, standing solitary against a leaden backdrop. 

The closer you get, you become increasingly aware of a malicious entity permeating behind the doors which strain to contain it. This is the same harrowing presence you felt when he protected you from Alister. Now that you’ve spent more time with Blade, you can discern its essence is different from his, although they’re forcibly intertwined like a rope. Blade emanates this unremittingly morose energy. It’s bleak, unconcentrated. 

This substance oozes a need to satiate bottomless bloodlust. It wants to sink its teeth into flesh, lacerate muscles, and slice through bone. Mayhem and viscera are its highest raison d'être. There’s no sensibility, no reasoning with it, it acts in one way then shifts on a whim; chaos inside a splintering bottle. 

How is Blade capable of functioning with this slumbering beast ready to wreak havoc at any second? 

Steeling your resolve, you prepare to enter.

A seal halts your progress. 

Impatience urges you to dispel it. Blade’s psyche is rejecting you, any further delays will give it ample opportunity to flush you out. 

The kaleidoscopic seal thrums and wards off your efforts. 

Someone put this here, you discern. It’s deliberate. 

What perplexes you is that the seal prohibits entry yet does nothing to contain the miasma writhing behind it. Wouldn’t whoever created it intend to keep that salivating beast at bay? It’s well-crafted too, denying your every attempt to eliminate it. Kafka dabbles in mind-altering. Could she have left this here? You know what her aura feels like — calm, confident, cunning — this seal radiates none of her trademarks. 

An invisible force hauls you back. 

You took too long — Blade’s psyche is expelling the foreign invader. 

You blink and you’re back in reality. 

Blade is grimacing, the lines on his face highlighted by flickering flame. There’s a pallor to his complexion brought on by the aggressive expulsion his mind pulled off. An act such as that leeches off of one’s vitality. He takes a moment to recompose himself, as do you. Any subsequent attempts to form a link are going to be wrung from a desiccated source. You don’t know how many attempts you have left in you, 

“A first offense, I could pardon,” Blade pants out, blood-red hues shining, “A recidivist like yourself, though… can’t go undisciplined.” 

Your eyes widen. How did he know your intentions so quickly? You hadn’t so much as moved yet! 

There’s a dull discomfort blooming from your nape. 

Your eyelids feel heavy and your breathing slows. Black spots float around in your vision. They start small, appearing as if they were polka dots, then grow to be the size of black holes. Your muscles won’t move. The unconscious realm beckons. Its gravitational pull is irresistible, a tide you can’t swim against. 

What is this? Your neck… did he strike a nerve…? 

“You’ll be fine,” a distant, sonorous voice promises. “Just sleep.” 

The sentence has been delivered. 

You’re made prisoner to a dreamless slumber. 

[chimeraartist]

Hey everyone! Have you ever seen those "Let's Make A Character Together!" posts before? I thought it'd be fun to make an Outlast-specific one!

Feel free to share this with your buddies, and if you make a reagent please tag me! I'm gonna make a reagent based on the comments of this post, too!

Elaboration under cut. Happy trials!

Let's Make A Reagent!

If you haven't seen this before, here's how it works! First share the picture to your friends, then one person makes a comment per details. Let at least one person comment before you comment again; the collaboration is half the fun!

Confused? Here's a rough guide to help you craft your guy:

1st Comment: Skin Tone

What's their skin tone or ethnicity? Are they from somewhere in Europe, or perhaps South America? Maybe they have vitiligo, or are covered in freckles!

2nd Comment: Eye Color

Pick an eye color. Do they have eyes so brown they're almost black? Do they have heterochromia, resulting in one red eye and one green eye? Do they even have pupils at all??

3rd Comment: Hair Color

We got hair dye here in this part of Sinyala. Any color under the fake sun is reasonable!

4th Comment: Hair Style

How's their hair? Do they keep it natural? Get as specific or as general as you'd like. Pick a hair type, say they've got some curls, describe how they tie it up, or even just say they shaved it all off!

5th Comment: Scars

No one makes it through Sinyala unscathed. Did they get lucky and get no scars at all? Did they get nicked across the nose? Did they lose some fingers in a compactor, or lost a leg to an Ex-Pop? Get as extreme as you'd like!

6th Comment: Outfit

What's their fashion style? Do they cling to a trend from outside Sinyala? Do they dress modestly, or provocatively? You could even pick a specific outfit from in game: maybe they wear the Shivered Unit, or the Lunchlady, or even the Dreadful Mess!

7th Comment: Rig

Rigs say a lot about about a reagent. Do they look out for their team with a heal rig? Do they nail their targets with stun, or look for documents with XRay? Pick from one of the six in-game, or even come up with a brand new one!

8th Comment: Amp

Contraband's easy to acquire if you know where to look. What's their favorite? Backpack, Strong Arm, Slippers, Lockbreaker, Short Circuit? Pick just one to bestow, or give them a full loadout!

9th Comment: Favorite Trial

What's their favorite trial? Do they like searching for codes in Empty The Vault? Do they enjoy the ambiance of the Fun Park? Do they exclusively play psychosurgery Coyle trials? Do they run escalation until their legs give out? Or is their favorite part when the trial ends, and Easterman shares a few choice words?

10th Comment: Random Detail

Here's the wild card, anything goes! Give an extra flair to our reagent. Do they make moonshine in their sleep room sink? Do they have a secret crush on Noakes? Do they hold a grudge against the Pusher for ruining their A+ streak? Anything goes...

Once you're all done, give the fella a name and let them loose! If you'd like, draw your new reagent, or recreate them in game!

I love these kinds of collaborations, so I really hope you all enjoy ^^

[1onelypoet]

stuck by the glue pt2 || op81 smau

a/n: pt2 omggg thanks for all the love on pt1 🩷

singer!reader

warnings: some slutshaming and cursing

fc: beabadoobe

oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, liamlawson30, mclaren and others

oscarpiastri Tough weekend, but we still snagged a good old P🖐

view comments

mclaren Making us proud 🧡🧡

box.dr3.box the emoji use in the caption is so millennial coded im crying

piastrisppastries he's just a silly little fella!

opeightyone Going to blow them away at spa 🔥🔥

moonandsaturn i hope she doesn't mean literally cus that could get us disqualified 😬 totossugarbaby THE DANCE MOMS QUOTE IM WEAK

yourusername

liked by scuderiaferrari, yourbff, oscarpiastri and others

yourusername 3 special shows in Liège, Belgium from wednesday to friday 🇧🇪 tix in my bio <3

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scuderiaferrari 🤭🤭

leclercloverz what is happening oml

y/nswifey ARE U GOING TO SPA???

yourusername may or may not be attending... hannalovesf1 Y/N IN HER F1 ERA WHAT landoscar i bet mclaren invited her op81updates ferrari commented so 🤷‍♀️

yourbff should've invited me too smh 😔😔

yourusername u literally said u'd go to the next one stop lying 👹 y/nupdates next time?????

honeymoon 💋🫧🔮

hrtshpdsnnies lana babe what is this 😭😭

yourusername i agree w u hmm totally 100% y/nlover HELP

yourusername added to their story

[caption: getting ready for 2night 🎸]

seen by oscarpiastri, finneas, yourfriend1 and others

oscarpiastri good luck <3 yourusername i didnt know u knew how to do that oscarpiastri do what? yourusername the heart <3 oscarpiastri ... yourusername 🥰 we're still on for 2night right oscarpiastri of course i can't wait to see u my pretty girl yourusername OMFG IM GOING ON STAGE NOW GOODBYE oscarpiastri i love u <3 yourusername love u too osc <3

f1gossip

liked by f1gossipgirl, f1teaaa, f1updates and others

tagged oscarpiastri

f1gossip Oscar Piastri was spotted kissing a mystery girl last night in Liège, Belgium. Many are wondering who his partner is, but as of right now, there is no information on Mrs. Piastri.

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maxieltruther mrs piastri 💀💀

ihaveitprintedout LMAO THAT HAD ME CACKLING

albonosauce this is so fucking invasive omg

mcredcedes literally like pls get a fucking life

piastris2ndwife nobody talk to me 💔

yourusername

liked by scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc, themarias and others

tagged scuderiaferrari

yourusername paint the town red 🌹

view comments

scuderiaferrari Red is your color 😍

yourusername 💋💋

landoscar @mclaren COME GET UR GIRL PLS hulkingburg a few likes doesn't mean he likes her...

lilymhe can't believe ur even more gorgeous in person

yourusername says the prettiest girl ever redbullgirly333 omg did they meet? 4thleclerckid I mean they were both at the paddock so probs

logansargeant bet you'd look better in blue 🧐

liked by yourusername

loscarlover ummm logan what is this! landonorizz everybody but oscar is in her comments atp

oscarpiastri

liked by frederickvestiofficial, f1, mclaren and others

tagged mclaren, maxverstappen1

oscarpiastri Unforgettable day 🧡

view comments

mclaren That's our rookie 😎

op81updates who is she? i just want to talk!

oscarpastryyy the post is abt his racing, why are you bringing that up 💀

brocedesdivorce it's giving parasocial relationship

mclarenauto 🧡🧡🧡

[dr3am-b3an]

Chat has spoken! Introducing my newest blorbo; Hue!

Hue’s an interesting lil fella who is in control of the color wheel, allowing them to alter and change their color and form in whatever way they please.

They can pose as someone we know or as an entirely different person, as well as blend into their environment. Their hands double as a color picker for when they need to make a quick change.

🌈Alternate Ref + Lore Dump below 🌈

Hue was once a regular created stick. At least they think they were? Their memories of the past are nothing but a blur, all they remember was the pain of their code slowly breaking apart and their will to stay alive. They survived being deleted but they don’t seem to recall how or why. Who they were and what they looked like before was also lost and forgotten. And yet they’re surprisingly chipper despite the horrors they faced when they were young. They don’t think about their life before nor do they care for it, they don’t wish to know what happened.

Surviving deletion didn’t come without any severe effects however, their code has been permanently damaged and mangled beyond repair. Their body could not longer retain a proper form and was incredibly unstable, switching from one form to the next uncontrollably n becoming a glitchy mess. It was so bad that anything or anyone who touched them would become a temporarily glitchy mess.

Merging with the color wheel allowed them to retain a stable body of their choosing and kept their code somewhat stable. Hue can alter their color as well as their body type as a whole, and can go as far as to pose as an existing person. Due to not remembering who they were before, their form is constantly changing as they don’t know who they were or what they looked like in the past. They used to frequent grey but since being on the run, their form is constantly switching and is never the same to avoid getting caught.

How they came across and merged with the wheel is nothing short of a mystery. Those kinds of appliances aren’t accessible to sticks but regular means. If asked however, Hue will claim that it was a gift. But from who exactly?

The public are unaware of what their intentions are but they’re after the Chosen One, to prove themselves they’d say. But to who?

Rocket Corps is desperately seeking any clues on their whereabouts and urges citizens to be on the look out.

But how can you look out for someone who can be anyone at anytime?

[toadettely]

honestly i’m horrible at naming things and idk what to call this so it’s up to whoever but i think i’ll do a set of drabbles getting into each of their traits. like in the last one with sophist’s affinity to gravitate towards cursed objects and somehow survive (as long as it’s a cursed object) and vern being overly sympathetic with the ghosts (usually they love him but if they’re vengeful they TARGET him) ((again attempting to color code))

sunny meadows mental institution is not a place for those who are weak of heart. it has an ugly past which has seeped into the asylum’s very being. every wall drenched in pure terror and agony. as sophist and brent roam the right side of the institute fear turns their bones to ice. vern, on the left of the map, walks alone with no comfort except a flickering flash light..

they all booked it out of there.

“c’mon nick please?”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!?”

“all you have to do is find the ghost room and get out..” “we promise we’ll let you stay in the van for the rest of the night” “i won’t be a dick about you staying in the van EVER again.”

“you’re all crazy if you think i’m going in THERE. AND..and this place is HUGE!? all THREE of you couldn’t find it?! WHY DO YOU THINK I CAN?!”

“is he serious?” “i think so..” “nick come on..there has never been a time where you haven’t found the ghost room on your first try.”

“yeah! you got this dude just do your thing”

“..fine..BUT! i’m not dying alone. if you fellas think i’m sooo good at this why don’t one of you come with me.”

“ok” “sure” “i wouldn’t mind but we need someone in the van to monitor sanity”

“..i hate you guys..”

nick slowly approaches the asylum steps getting slower and slower the closer he gets.. a stark contrast to how vernias practically skips towards the mental institute.

“you belong here..anyone who’s willing to enter this hellhole has to be insane”

“this place is inhumane, i’m like half sure i saw a jar of teeth, but as long as you’re here with our luck we’ll be fineeee”

“TEETH?!”

“chill out we’re already inside you can’t be yelling!”

“well maybe don’t tell me about the HUMAN TEETH!?”

as nick and vern scouted the remains of sunny meadows drenched in fear..the guys in the van seemed pretty alright.

“do you think nick will finally get a taste of the afterlife with this one?”

“he hasn’t died yet and we’ve been doing together for at least a year..plus i heard he used to do solo jobs”

“NICK?! like our nick? he doesn’t step out of the van unless vern has him by the scruff”

“yeah, no apparently he was really good at it”

“that’s wild.. you think i can take a nap before they come back?”

“uhhh sure. i can keep watch and monitor their vitals”

“cool cool..”

as brent turns back to the computer he feels a weight drop onto his shoulder.. and then hears a gut wrenching scream. sophist bolts straight up nearly knocking his head into brent’s chin.

“..sleep is for the weak anyway..”

just then nick runs up to the van, panic written all over his features, as vernias follows cackling.

“THE CROSSES FLIPPED UPSIDE DOWN!? WHAT THE HELL”

“you should’ve seen it! he screamed like a little girl! It’s in the chapel by the way”

“THE CHAPEL. THE HOLY PLACE OF THE LORD!! OH MY GOD I CAN’T”

“okay, okay as promised we’ll do the rest you can go back to being van man”

“actually i’m not going back in there either.. there are like 5 cursed items in there-“

“WHAT? REALLY?!”

“aaand just like that sophist’s gone.”

“i guess i’ll follow and see what else we can find”

“bye brent!”

“i need a nap..”

i can’t lie your encouragement is sending me on a spree but still!! el i WILL go kaboom 💥 clover bits all over. things will truly get chaotic if you keep using the a word [envision the yippee horse guy thingy staring at you]…

-🍀

(This ask is from two day ago) Continuation of this!

I'm absolutely invested in this AU!! It's so exciting and your dialogues are Chef's kiss!!

Swizard tagged a rb with "Pc Phasmophobia AU" and I think I like that name a lot for this AU! (≧∇≦)ﾉ It's basic but it's literally on point (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)

I adore your love for details when it comes to their traits! When I read your first story, I haven't thought about things like Nick's luck, Vern's overly sympathetic nature and Sophist's connection with cursed objects and his ability to somehow survive them - But it's very noticeable now and amazingly written and well thought-out! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ) I love all of this so much <33

Nick used to do solo jobs before this?? That's so cool! And makes sense that he was good at it, his luck probably protected him haha (^∇^*)

I LOVE how Vern mentiones there are cursed items in there and Sophist just SPRINTS into the place - absolutely beautiful (/≧▽≦)/

Take all the praise and encouragement, Hun!! You deserve it and I really adore this AU and your writing, Honey Bomb!! 🍯💣

[itwasaterribleidea]

What do we do on tuesday nights?

WRITE A TON OF OUR CULT'S THINGS!

Tonight my fellas, we're talking about our canon events, this list may be actualized in the future when I actually buy the game and play again (bc I was playing with PS Plus and recently got cut out from the family budget, thus leading to cancel it)

Random color code:

Bold names are exclusively for important characters (Leshy, Heket, Narinder, Abel, Cayn, Shamura, Kallamar)

Italic names are for ocs or other implied characters

- Leshy and Heket firstly didn't got along (still they don't), and while our dear frog girl was in her turn of the bar, a very drunk ass moss worm atarted pressing her buttons. One punch lead to another...

Heket lost and fucking died.

(No worries! She revived right after that by Abel's word)

- Calix (soon to talk about his lore) was one of the cult's healers, the best at his job, he would not hesitate to save someone's life, thus making him get eaten by a recently revived guy...

When Abel took care of the threat and revived this dear cat of the cult, what was his first request?

"Leader, KILL ME. DO IT ON THE NIGHT SO THERE ARE NO WITNESSES."

(Currently, Abel's trying to explain Leshy (his lover) how did he fucking died next day of being revived.)

- Love's in the air they said to Abel, but little they expected that something else would float when a guy implied that his former husband Ramses wasn't being loyal to him.

(Fortunately, the poet was good food.)

- What was the most sudden plot twists of the cult? Kallamar has the trait 'Lustful', but surprisingly, no partners match him. Leshy took the place of the cult's sex worker. So, at night, kissing random people and dragging them into more sin, at day, hitting the kitchen to bake delicious food

(Abel wants him to burn one of these days...)

- When Cayn firstly met Shamura, they were slightly creeped oht, but the former bishop fell deeply in love. Little the spider expected, that the new goat had already a lover. In a meticulous plan, they trashed the lover and made their way to them. After marrying successfully and developing feelings, they confessed that... And surprisingly, they weren't freaked out.

(They found it hot.)

[alex31624]

Duck Comic Reading Club Week 7: Paperinik New Adventures: Earthquake

Ok, let's get to the point, this issue is the best one yet. An amazing story and a gorgeous art combined.

Oh God, the art. The Francesco Guerrini work here is astonishing. The use of the colors is masterful. Brilliant in every aspect.

This week story start with an earthquake on Duckburg. No major disaster occurred, except for good old uncle Scrooge.

Why do you insurance your oil rig with your own insurance company?

I mean, I got that he didn't have to pay himself the quota for the service, but now you have to pay for the damages. So, stop complaining you crazy old bird.

But One found out something fishy about the earthquakes, and is up to Donald to investigate this. Is so funny that Duckburg is Paperopoli in italian. Is better than Patolandia tho.

PK took one of the many vehicles at the Tower, and went for a ride, super hero style.

This page is a piece of beauty.

We got a new character, Mary Ann Flagstarr, a PBI agent. Tough lady.

PK had had encounters with the police, but now, he faced federal agents. My boy is not making any friends.

But, you know? A vigilante, a superhero, can't work with the authority. So, yeah, go get them PK.

Another new character, Professor Morgan Fairfax. What a nice fella, I'm sure he has never done anything wrong in his life.

One knows something is not right, they need to keep investigating. But now, is time to go back to the world of cyber space.

Another beautiful page, this issue can't miss.

But is hard to step into a federal database without anyone noticing, so they got caught. Thankfully, One was one step ahead and got himself a great scapegoat.

Oh, now you don't like spread misinformation, right jerk?

He didn't face any charge, and, to be fair, he was innocent. But, if being ugly was a crime, he would get the chair.

Back to the Professor, and he's making some really evil looking smirks. Could it be that he's not the nice guy that we though?

Also, another banger page.

PK infiltrates in the building, using some advance tech. One is a cheat code, and here's being used at his fullness.

PK had a weird Donald moment, when he stuck in the vent, fall to the ground, and got face to face with the worst security guard ever.

Hey, masked vigilante sneaked in this government facility that I supposed to be looking after. I'm gonna make some lame jokes, and then I'm gonna miss the shots less than a meter away.

Don't come in the morning pal.

You know? I'm starting to think that this guy Fairfax is not that nice.

Yeah, yeah, he's the bad guy. Trying to burn PK alive is in my Being Bad Bingo.

And yet another absolutely gorgeous page. Is amazing.

Thankfully, One and his infinite tech come to the rescue. PK also save the guard, because he's a hero.

Now, this one part was kinda weird. Agent Flagstarr has been shown trough the issue as tough, focus agent, that wants to get the job done. But, a few words of Fairfax and a gift are enough to make her dismiss orders.

Also, that face… you can't trust someone with that face…

Now we found about Fairfax plan. He wants to create a earthquake strong enough that the whole planet would change, and new land would appear.

At the cost of the entire west coast being destroyed.

The worst part? One agrees with him. What the hell man? Not cool One, not cool.

PK got in the plane and try to stop Fairfax, but Flagstarr was in his way. The agent was conflicted on what to do. Madam, help the guy who doesn't want to destroy the whole west coast. Is not that hard.

Man, the art on this issue is out of control.

PK is so cool.

Finally, One got a change of heart, if you can said that, and helped PK to stop this madness. I knew One wasn't a psychopath.

But that last image of the device at the bottom of the sea is quite unsettling.

What can I said? This was awesome. I love all the detective PK stuff, the danger was palpable, One almost got Duckburg destroy. The art was magnificent, the colors were vibrant, it looked beautiful in general.

Hands down, the best one yet.

[dendrofiles]

the LIs in the percy and augustine universe !!

color coding only matters for the first two and then its random

sydney: augustine's most beloved <3 sydney is pure, and they're promised to each other! they are so ridiculously in love. sydney has become quite protective and possessive of augie (yes that one p!syd dominance thing i wrote was totally an augustine insert, and what of it). they're planning to get married as soon as they graduate. they're meant for each other, they're two halves of a whole, their lovemaking transcends the flesh, et cetera et cetera. also their sex is GOOD and thinking about it makes me so horny i pass out. augustine splayed out on the altar, sydney whispering sweet things in his ear... ough. but of course augustine believes that he's going to have to die to rid the town of the influence of auriga, leaving sydney alone. he feels terrible about it, and he feels so selfish for loving sydney anyway, but he can't stop himself. (btw, when augie fights auriga later he does not die. virgo spares him. but he doesn't know that atp) percy likes sydney but he thinks all the god stuff is a bit overkill. one bible-thumping friend was enough

eden: percy's scary ass husband. kinda yammered about their relationship a bit here but they’re cute. they compliment each other nicely. it literally took no effort on eden’s part to stockholm percy bc he was just so fucking traumatized that he needed OUT of that damn town. once they got used to each other it was pretty much guaranteed that they’d fall in love. there are some minor hiccups here and there- percy has all his weird foxy habits, eden can’t always keep up with him sexually due to the fox libido, eden won’t hunt humans for percy to eat- but they get through it. they’re cute!!! augustine has met eden once on accident and it was really awkward. he was out artifact hunting and he stumbled on eden and percy having a picnic. neither augustine or eden wanted to be there lol. augie supports percy but he can’t look eden in the eye after everything percy has told him about their sexcapades

robin: childhood bestie! the augie percy robin trio was inseparable as kids. augustine was definitely the ringleader of the group, percy was the main troublemaker, and robin was the sweet friend who got them out of sticky situations. he sees augustine as an older brother and percy as a good friend he has to keep an eye on. also has a bit of a crush on augustine, but augie already has a big-boy relationship with sydney so robin's shit out of luck. anyways. augustine was spending a lot of time at the temple and not seeing a lot of robin, so robin got sent to the docks. (percy wouldn't have been any help anyways- he was already in the woods, and also was not making enough money to help.) augustine eventually did find out about what was happening and rescued robin, then started paying his rent. augustine helped him through his trauma, but then got a bit more distant as his rank in the temple increased. the three fellas still see each other when they have time but robin's still lonely </3

whitney: surprisingly amicable relationship, honestly. he used to bully both percy and augustine a lot, but then percy went on his woods grind, so augustine became his only target. whitney thought augustine would be easy to pick on, but augie always fought back. hard. also, augustine got a bit more popular at school, and whitney was sick of seeing this little shit with the holier-than-thou attitude float around school and be praised by everybody. so he tried to sell augie to the underground brothel, but uh oh!! we all know what happens here. they tried to take him instead!! luckily, augustine saved him. whitney was a bit too traumatized to leave the house for a while, but when he finally did, augustine found him. he was pissed at first because he thought it was another instance of moral posturing on augie's part, but realized that augustine's intentions were pure. so now he's a bit nicer to augustine and percy and is reluctantly friends with them. he still picks on them and such but there's a lot less physical violence

kylar: okay he really doesn’t figure too much into this but he’s the rare person who is fixated on percy rather than on augustine. percy doesn’t actually mind the attention that much. he was sympathetic to kylar, seeing another fucked-up violent little guy. and he was kinda willing to be friends with kylar? but that was never gonna happen. kylar did back off when he followed percy into the woods once and saw eden. the sight of percy kissing a buff guy with a gun scared him right the fuck off. on augustine’s end, sydney told him to stay away from kylar, and he listened because he needs to trust his future husband (me when im writing someone else’s section but i get hit with the syd brainrot again)

avery: public enemy number one. before percy ever encountered him, augustine went on one date with him. at the end of the date, avery tried to have sex with him, but of course augie was pure and also promised to sydney, so he was able to fight avery off (and also steal his money lmao). he started staying inside the temple on saturdays to avoid avery. unfortunately, augie didn’t expect avery to turn around and pursue percy so quickly, so he wasn’t able to prevent what happened. so avery nonconned percy and took his virginity. yay for all of that unnecessary fucking trauma!! percy fucking despises him. he hasn’t hated anyone so much since his parents. avery is very much the villain of this world. also, augustine could kind of sense his affiliation with the children of auriga, so avery’s automatically a target for whatever takedown plot the temple cooks up. both of the boys want avery dead

as for augustine and percy’s relationship, they’re best friends but they’re closer to siblings. they don’t always like each other. growing up percy was always jealous of augustine- his certainty in himself, the way people seemed to bend to his will, etc. and of course augie was jealous of percy because he didn’t have to deal with overwhelming levels of ancient knowledge at the ripe age of 6. but to be fair they were kind of in the same boat in terms of parental problems so they could never be too jealous of each other. and their relationship is decent now :)

[sleepyselkiesims]

Part 29

Well, not that Cinder needed to freshen up. He wasn't even wearing the ultra popular star-sunglasses at night indoors in winter, smh.

Now that he was actually at the party, Cinder was nervous. No one seemed to remember/care about him enough to have invited him to a pre-prom-party this time. Not that it had gone well last time, but still...

If Cinder was honest, he really wanted to have somebody to ask to the prom. To dance with someone who wasn't a relative and fall in love, like all the other teens did. But Cinder never had been good at being honest with himself. Maybe if he just waited, someone would come up to him?

Cinder was pretending to laugh at something on his phone when a rather suspicious sim snuck in the back of the auditorium, where Cinder was all by himself. And too busy to notice the sim looking around suspiciously and filling their pockets with cookies.

Then, miracle of miracles, the sim sat next to Cinder!! The moment Cinder laid eyes on them, he knew. The Queens fell in love hard and fast, but Cinder might well have been the most smitten. And this sim hadn't even glanced at him!

The sim grew a little concerned at the mesmerized expression on Cinder's face. They smiled awkwardly and waved their hand in Cinder's face a few times until Cinder finally remembered how to act like a normal sim again.

Once the initial wave of smittenness washed away, Cinder found his charming tongue! He had all the compliments and jokes a mysterious sim could wish for! And they had to be a pretty cool person, if they didn't care about dressing up for the big night!

The sim took in the gathering's dress code and excused themself for a moment, returning in definitely not a stolen dress. Cinder approved of the new look, and did not ask questions! Which the mystery sim seemed to appreciate.

Cinder was so, so excited to have someone to talk to, finally! Especially someone who'd reached out to him first! He barely paused for breath as he chatted about everything and anything!

The mystery sim gave few answers to any probing questions, so Cinder backed off on the small talk. He had plenty of jokes to crack himself up anyway! The mystery sim wasn't sure whether to find it endearing or concerning.

Time flew as Cinder talked and talked, and before he knew it everyone was gathering for the big prom court reveal!

As they stood to join the crowd, Cinder paused to throw in a few more compliments. He wouldn't be surprised if this sim never wanted to talk to him again, but he was glad to have gotten to meet them and blabber away, even if it was only for one night.

With that, Cinder joined the crowds, leaving behind an apparently conflicted mystery sim, eyeing the door.

Eventually the sim picked a side, and managed to join the buzzing crowd without bolting away.

Who knows who these guys are. But that one fella was so ready to be Jester, he even color coordinated his outfit!

With the Big Reveal over, Cinder and the mystery sim retreated to the quiet corner again. And the sim had something to show Cinder...

The mystery sim's name was Quinn. Quinn Ryder. And they had some absolutely adorable cat videos!! Cinder loved those!

Shoutout to @changingplumbob for the spectacular Quinn Ryder!

Apparently the conversation was very inspiring XD

[garpen]

you should take care of yourself so I don't have to hit you on the head with a pink (hex code: F88897) metal folding chair that costs 20.99

(genuinely hope you get better btw because you're a silly fella that does silly things which is very good <3)

Okay but I don't think I'd mind it bc I looked it up and it's a pretty nice color

If I had to get hit over the head by a chair at least it's a pretty one at that

(I'm mostly taking good care of myself! And I'm through the hump of it, just some lingering not so fun symptoms now. Thank you I love you.)

[vertical-tacos]

BRIGHT-ISH COLORS AND BODY HORROR WARNING :[

if the radio test dummy from the Rochas313 ARG has no fans then I am dead :]

idk I love this silly little fella!! even though it had like one cameo I can't help but adore em :]

anyways I uh came up with some hc ideas for em, so under the cut they go

Originally, they were just going to be a dialogue NPC in Rochas's game, but he ended up scrapping it because of code and other issues such as it just no longer fitting in the game. But when the tree appeared, that all changed.

Suddenly, nothing fit. Nothing was right in his game, all because of that cursed tree. And while him and Cappy were trying to figure out what to do, they came up with the idea of trying to communicate to the tree.

Because if the tree had a heartbeat, that meant it was definitely alive.

So one night, Rochas dragged Fern (the HC name i gave the scrapped NPC), and using some spare mesh parts, parented it and all of its scripts to the tree.

This was NOT a pleasant experience for the NPC. No. Imagine getting hooked up to a living tree and getting infested by it. All because the tree wants to spread through as many games as it can.

So. At first everything went as planned. The NPC actually managed to have the tree communicate through it, which ofc shocked both Cappy AND Rochas, even though it was his plan, and his idea.

But obviously, a tree that appears randomly in your game, says it wants to spread throughout any games it can reach (its fairly obvious, even if it only communicated in single words, through the NPC. "Spread". "Seed". Its directive seems distinguishable), is NOT a friendly tree. or..Whatever the hell it is. It sure doesn't act like a tree.

So the tree (nosoi, as it called itself in the arg) started getting aggressive. The NPC started to act erratic, shaking even when the tree wasn't sending a message through the roots piercing the NPC's back. Cappy realized this was going south and managed to convince Rochas to shut down the server. If they shut down the game permanently, maybe the tree couldn't infest anything else. But here's the thing. It didn't NEED to infest anything else at the moment. It needed to strengthen the vessel gifted to it. So the NPC became further and further corrupted. And as it lost itself further and further to this parasite, it felt one thing. for the first time, it felt.

it felt hate. for its creator. its creator, Rochas, was surely the cause behind all of the tree's growing influence. even if he hadn't placed the tree there, it was still HIS FAULT it was hooked up to this tree. all because its creator wanted to TALK TO A TREE.

it lost itself further. it could feel itself slipping away, its coded consciousness dissapating from under nosoi's grasp.

but even if it was, it felt hate. it felt malice.

it wanted Rochas to pay.

it wanted him to pay, for playing god.

the tree's spread was all his fault. he should rightfully pay.