#the thing with the guns not working only being logical and allowing for things like hopper's sword to work making sense under game rules

[madwheelerz]

The Case of HNL & Russia

So, let’s talk about the case of locations in the manifestation theory. Starting with the lab. In terms of Mike's first DM book, we have two cases in which we see it being used. This is unusual because most of the DM books, including Mike's second one, pop up once never to be seen or heard from again.

Each time we get to see this one being read from it seems to be in relation to Hawkins National Laboratory, but specifically the interior. We see it directly after the scientist runs from the demogorgon which leads into Mike eventually introducing the demogorgon to the campaign.

{S1 E1 at roughly 0:00-3:00}

We also see Dustin read from it. While Dustin is reading, we get visuals of Hopper in HNL walking towards the gate.

{S1 E5 at roughly 6:14-7:22}

It seems like they want us to have a good look at the building and stuff on the cover, though, because there is a very nice shot of the cover. There's a building on it which is unusual because none of the other books, that we can see, have buildings on them.

There is also a small drawing of the cardinal directions, another interesting point when you consider what the boys tried to use to find the gate in lab in the first place. The last time we see the book is the last time it's reasonable to show us the interior of HNL. By the end of the season when Mike is sporting a new DM book the role of HNL has been completed so we don't need to see it anymore and in season two there is no DnD.

Now Russia, said in a very "now, you!" fashion lol. The entire Russia subplot is strange because even thinking about it for longer than a second causes the entire illusion of Russian counterintelligence invades Hawkins to fall apart.

The Russians come to Nowhere, Indiana smack in the middle of a new attraction at Hawkins, somewhere insanely overpopulated because of how new it is, and set up camp. They're in the lower levels trying to breach the gate. Yeah, okay.

Their super-secret code is also Planck's constant, a physics constant. Something Suzie points out that Dustin should already know.

The super-secret code to the top-secret Russian base is a constant that a reasonably nerdy kid who happens to be interested in physics would know. Okay. That doesn't sound like the work of multiple intelligent grown adults, but it does sound like the work of an intelligent child.

There's also a part of the Russian code about China that directly leads to a restaurant.

The only other time I can recall food, and something related to China coming up is during the Wheeler dinner scene in season one.

The Wheeler's also bring Russia as a negative force a few times prior to season three.

There's also the terminator guy. We see this man kill someone in cold blood in the first episode, but his behavior doesn't line up and have we ever figured out what he wanted with Hopper?

As far as I know, this guy saw Hopper make a scene at Enzo's and got pissed and that was enough to spark his anger? It really doesn't make sense.

(Hopper’s dialogue also being similar to the justification he used as to how he could cover up murdering Mike, but hey-)

What's interesting about him is that he seems like he was plucked straight out of a movie and seems to hate Hopper for little to no reason. He also doesn't sound like an adult. His dialogue is very childish and seems pretty reflective of the Mike-Hopper threat in the car situation.

For both locations the gates are also being operated in a lower level, basement-like area as well.

It's all very easy to poke a hole into.

[sunonyoreface]

One Cot - Simon “Ghost” Riley

Hi there, this story is a one shot about Simon Riley. I haven’t played COD before and I don’t know much about his character, but I love the thought of tough men being soft.

Summary: You help Ghost on a cold night and he returns the favour.

Word count: 2398

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: none, fluff.

Crews like task force 141 aren’t the type to pack extra cots. They don’t need them. Because crews like 141 don’t make a habit of bringing home extra bodies. There’s only ever one scenario when they have extra cots. Luckily for them, tonight’s not one of those nights.

For me, however, that means another night on the floor with my ankle cuffed to the bottom of one of their cots in case I try to run.

 Although I’m deemed non-violent, I’m also a flight risk. According to them at least.

 According to me, I have no clue where we are or how I’d even survive away from them. I’ve got no money, no ID, no map or compass, or even the slightest clue how I’d escape. Regardless, the cuffs stay on.

 My wrists face the same fate. But my hands are free enough to rake them through my damp hair, working them through the tangles. It’s a soothing feeling of normalcy in this strange place.

 In his cot on the other side of the room, Soap waits for one of the other boys to return from the showers and trade off babysitting duty.

 One thing I can say is that chivalry is not dead, because they allowed me to shower first. Not that it matters all that much. There’s no hot water anyway so there isn’t much of a benefit in going first. But it’s the thought that counts.

 Ghost is the first one back. It’s strange not seeing him wear layers upon layers of tactical gear. Instead, he only wears dark jeans and a black henley. And the balaclava too. I’ve yet to see him take it off. I wouldn’t be surprised if he showered with it on. I don’t know that the other guys have seen him take it off either. They make comments sometimes, little jabs and jokes about how it never comes off. Ghost hardly notices though. Or maybe I should say hardly reacts. He’s stoic through it all, preventing any emotions from breaking through.

 Soap leaves without a word. They understand their positions. So well, that half the time I think they’re communicating through their thoughts.

 Ghost places a duffel bag on the cot I’m cuffed to. I sit cross-legged on a blanket on the floor as he ruffles through it.

 His strong form towers over me two feet away. Ghost doesn’t make eye contact as I watch him search through the bag. He’s less threatening without the bulky gear and a gun in his hand. But that mask is still terrifying enough to find its way into your dreams.

 However, it's not the mask that sets me on edge around Ghost, it’s his eyes. They’re cold and unwavering, giving away nothing. They’re the eyes of a killer. Of someone who enjoys inflicting pain. Of someone whose been in so much pain himself, his only release is passing it on to others.

 He hasn’t bothered me that much since my first day with them all. Back when he was ready to put me down like a lame horse. I was a loose end that needed to be tied up. Still am, if I’m being honest. Price stopped him, but if it was up to Ghost, I’d have been dead for days now. Even now, I’m sure part of him wants to kill me knowing it’s the more logical option. But until then, he’s under orders to keep me alive.

 “Anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a staring problem?” His rough voice breaks the silence. He rarely acknowledges me so for him to speak up must mean I’ve struck a nerve. My mouth suddenly feels dry.

 “Just you,” I say. “Sorry.”

 But I don’t look away. I continue to watch him search through the bag. I don’t know what he’s looking for but he can’t seem to find it. The tight sleeves of the Henley hug his strong arms. Even through the fabric, I can see the defined lines of his muscles. His posture is nearly perfect and his movements could almost be considered robotic.

 “What’re you looking for?” He doesn’t seem like the type of person to misplace his things.

 “Nothing,” he responds bluntly.

 “Maybe it fell behind the cot. I can check for you?” I offer.

 “Negative.”

 “Are you sure beca-“

 “Stop talking, y/n,” he snaps. I flinch at his response. As he says this he finally makes eye contact with me and I regret ever looking at him. There’s an anger in his eyes that no man I’ve ever met has been able to match. A deep-rooted hatred for the world and all of its inhabitants. It’s not a look that you’re born with. It’s one that’s carved from years of pain and betrayal. He’s witnessed the type of things that would break most people. The intensity of his gaze is too much. I break eye contact to stare at the floor.

 Fine. I won’t try to help.

 I lean against the cement wall and try to think about anything else. I press my hands to the inside of my thighs in an attempt to warm them up.

 When they found me I was only in ripped shorts and a ratty tank top with nothing else to my name.

 Since then some of the men spared me a set of long johns, a long sleeve shirt, and a pair of thick socks. I’m not allowed shoes in case I try and take off. It’s better than what I had but the warehouse is cold and the cement floor seems to suck out any heat my body produces.

 Ghost angrily zips up the duffel bag and tosses it on the floor at the other end of the cot. I watch the bag skid for a foot before finally coming to a stop.

 He climbs onto the cot with a dissatisfied grunt. Ghost sleeps with his head on the far side of the cot and his feet at the end I’m cuffed to. He doesn’t take his shoes off. None of them do. In fact, I’m surprised he isn’t sleeping with more gear on. Some days they’ll all sleep in their tactical gear as if they’re waiting to be attacked. Part of me is relieved they don’t feel as though that’s a threat tonight.

 I can hear voices echo down the halls. Some of the others must be done in the showers.

 I lie down on my makeshift bed: a pillow and a blanket that I fold in half to act as a mattress and duvet.

 When I lie down, however, something shiny catches my eye under Ghost’s cot.

 It’s a tiny chain. A necklace.

 On my hands and knees, I crawl under his cot to grab the necklace.

 “What’re you doing?” Ghost mumbles above me. I hear him shift his weight against the rough canvas fabric.

 When I back out from under the cot, he’s sitting with his legs off the edge. Suspiciously eyeing my movements. His right hand is in one of his pant pockets probably wrapped around a knife in case I try something.

 I kneel in front of the bed beside his legs. My damp hair clings to my neck and the tip of my nose is red and cold.

 I raise the chain up to Ghost. His eyes latch on immediately.

 “Is this it?” I ask. He eyes me suspiciously. I see him searching for any signs of deceit. Maybe I lied to him and hid the chain from him. Maybe I pickpocketed him before he went to shower. But I didn’t do any of those things. I hold his eye contact this time. His brows soften ever so slightly. It seems to be enough.

 Ghost doesn’t say anything. Instead, he simply grabs the chain from my hand. His fingers brush against my palm as he scoops it up. He examines it a moment before slipping it over his neck and tucking it under his shirt.

 I don’t know why but I was hoping for a thank you. Or at least an acknowledgment that I’d helped. But Ghost remains silent. At the same time, the voices reach the room. Roach and Gaz round the corner from the hallway.

 At their entrance, I turn back to my makeshift bed and pretend to sleep. It’s not that I don’t like them - although I don’t, in fact, I don’t like any of them - but I don’t have the energy for more questions from them tonight.

 I hear Ghost shift in his cot and it seems our thoughts are on the same track.

 As hard as I try, sleep doesn’t come. They shut off the main lights over an hour ago, yet I still haven’t calmed down enough to drift off. It doesn’t help that I can’t stop shivering from the cold.

 The warehouse remains utterly silent except for the light snores and breathing of the men. Only the emergency lights fill the corners of the room with dim, orange light. They’re almost comforting in a way.

 I pull the single blanket tighter around my shoulders and ball up even smaller if that’s possible, but nothing helps. My bones shake and my teeth rattle. If only I had another blanket.

 The cot next to me creaks as Ghost shifts in his sleep. It creaks some more and then I notice he’s sitting up.

 Ghost spares a glance in my direction as he rummages through his pocket for something.

 Something silver glints in the light and I realize it’s a key. He wordlessly tosses it in my direction and by some stroke of luck, I catch it mid-air.

 It’s the key to the cuffs. I spare an uneasy glance in his direction. He wants me to uncuff myself?

 Ghost doesn’t react. Instead, he watches as I process my thoughts, as I push through my weariness and unlock my ankles first before freeing my wrists.

 I reach to pass the key back to him but instead of grabbing the key, his large hand wraps completely around my wrist and tugs me in close.

 I’m face to face with him as his other hand wraps around my jaw so I can’t pull away.

 “If you try to run, I’ll kill you,” his low voice is barely above a whisper. The edge to his tone makes the threat feel all the more real.

 “Okay,” I nod in response. My heart is racing and I feel the blood rush to my cheeks.

 “Come here. Bring your blanket,” he motions to the cot. I spare a glance at the narrow bed. Surely he doesn’t want to share it with me? There’s barely enough room for one person let alone two.

 “I don’t know,” I whisper back as though it’s an option. I don’t know where he’s going with this suggestion and I don’t think I trust him.

 “That’s an order, y/n,” his response does nothing to ease my soul, but I grab my blanket anyway and crawl onto the cot.

 It’s now he notices my hesitancy. How I purposely leave space between us on the bed. That I’m unsure of why he wants me up here. The fogginess of his intentions.

 “I can't sleep with the sound of your teeth rattling in my ears all night,” nothing changes in my expression so he tries again, his tone softer this time. “You’re safe, y/n. I’m safe. Nothing’s going to happen.”

 I sigh in relief but don’t say anything in response. He knows.

 “C’mere,” he lifts the blanket for me to slide in. The warmth immediately welcomes me into the space.

 The cot is more narrow than a twin mattress and leaves little to no wiggle room for two people. I’m pressed tightly into Ghost's chest as his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me closer and preventing me from falling off.

 I thought I’d be tense but the heat under the blankets completely relaxes me. I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck. His balaclava is soft against my cheek. I hear his breathing pick start to pick up. I can feel his chest expand deeper than before.

 “Thank you,” my voice is barely audible, but I know he heard.

 As I adjust to our proximity, I breathe in the scents that linger on his skin and in his clothes. I can smell the same standard citrusy shampoo on him as myself and the rest of the crew use. But there’s also a remainder of smoke and gunpowder from the day’s work. There’s something else more unique to him and yet I can’t put my finger on it. I take a deep breath and allow myself to revel in the calming smells. This shouldn’t be comforting and yet it is.

 Nothing about this situation should be comforting and yet I feel safer than I have in weeks.

 Wrapped in Ghost's arms, I know nothing else in the world can get to me. My only danger is the man who holds me. Yet I know in this instance after he’s sacrificed his space and his bed for me, that I’ve got nothing to worry about.

 Ghost shifts against the canvas again. This time pulling me on top of him as he spreads out across his cot. He wraps his arms around my back he readjusts for the final time. I feel so small on top of him. Ghost spreads a hand out across my lower back and it feels as though it takes up the entire width of the space. His thumb soothingly brushes back and forth along the arch of my spine.

 I lay my head on his chest and listen to the thrum of his heart. It beats strong and steady like a bass drum. I feel myself relaxing even more as my breathing starts to match his. I feel myself start to drift as my head lulls with his chest when it rises and falls.

 For the first time in a long time, I don’t worry about what tomorrow brings. I’m so content in his arms that I don’t think about what’s next. All that fills my mind is the strength of his heartbeat and the distant scent of gunpowder. The last thing I think about before finally nodding off is the feeling of his thumb brushing up and down along my back, letting me know everything is going to be alright.

Edit+A/N: I have never received this much attention on a story before so thank you!! When I have time should I write more for Ghost?

Fic based on this concept:

[drtanner]

I think it's worth remembering that whenever someone seems to make a really weird leap of logic that makes no sense whatsoever to you, it's almost certainly a reflection of their own internal values.

For example:

What they say: "If we let the gays marry, the next thing you know, people will be marrying their dogs! Or their cars!"

What they mean: "I see women as Marriage Objects that belong to their spouses with no autonomy. Allowing same sex marriage expands the list of possible Marriage Objects and I don't approve."

What they say: "If whites become a minority in this country, we'll become second-class citizens!"

What they mean: "I'm fully aware that minorities are treated like shit in this country and I don't want to be treated that way myself. Also I can't imagine a society that isn't run by the majority having dominion over everybody else."

What they say: "They're asking for £15 per hour as the new minimum wage, but why stop there? Why not £50 per hour? Why not £500?"

What they mean: "I'm so opposed to any increase in minimum wage for The Poors that all of these amounts are equally ridiculous to me."

What they say: "If we introduce UBI, no one will ever work again and the economy will collapse!"

What they mean: "I'm fucking exhausted and the only reason I'm still going to work is because the threat of homelessness and destitution is leveraged against me at all times like a gun to my head. If I had the means to stop working I'd lie down and sleep for ten years straight."

OR: "I'm already so rich that I don't have to work for my income, and I can't imagine anyone else being any less lazy or workshy than I am."

What they say: "Queers are all groomers! Leave the kids alone!"

What they mean: "I should have my hard drive checked."

If you've ever heard the saying that "every right-wing accusation is a confession", this is what we mean. ( b ._.)b

[lostalienchild]

Makima x Fem reader headcannons cuz I can

Warnings: Spoilers, mentions of intoxication, NSFW themes, yandere ideas cuz it's makima

Minors dni

First of all, makima is a straight woman, but like most people there is some flexibility there. I only write wlw so I'll be discussing wlw dynamics and headcannons based on that. Makima may at most be an unknowing heteroflexible.

At the time of y/n's arrival into her life (devil hunter, or chance encounter) she probably saw you as another pawn or at best (worst) a nobody. Especially if y/n was not particularly close to denji

Makima sees humans as dogs, (which is also curious considering that most humans would die for their dogs) although you may be useful in general, you may not be useful for her original goal.

The key with makima is patterns, aloofness, and idiosyncrasies. makima will not notice you otherwise. You annoy her. Always asking why. Asking why and questioning her logic gets you put on her shit list. Which is in fact a good thing. It may make her even wonder why she is doing what she is doing. If she even wants what she wants?

For instance, when you heard power was put with aki and denji, you argued about how that wasn't fair for aki. About how he was only one person and had to look after 2 fiends. How it was short notice and how she wasn't being considerate. When makima retorted that aki was more than capable of watching after them both, you asked whether or not she even respected him enough to ask him first. It made her pause. On one hand you were a nuisance, on the other hand you were on to something. Especially considering her true goal when it came to aki and the others.

"if you give into people, others will give into you," was your response when she tries to manipulate you once. Without ties to the gun devil you needed more motivation. After another company party and after a round of drinks you were a bit tipsy, but sober enough to function fine. Makima offered to order another round and you refused, being at your limit. Himeno, the bad influence she is, urged you for one more drink before aki reprimanded her. Makima insisted as well saying that parties were rare and should be enjoyed while they lasted. She really dug in, "many people don't stay in section 4 for long, these memories are precious." she got you with that one. You ended up accepting the drink.

After that you weren't in the best of states and makima accompionied you outside, allowing you to lean on her shoulder for support as you stood. She offered to walk you home. With the added liquor you were more sociable than usual. You weren't dumb though. You knew makima wasn't completely trustworthy, but you couldn't put your finger on as to why or what it was. Everyone around loved miss makima. Miss makima was always polite, pristine, and pretty. Her office was bare and housed no personal affects. No pictures or trinkets. She never spoke about herself. Someone like her was off putting. But.. Where was the danger exactly? So you ignore it until that night.

When she offered you a deal you didn't fall for it.

"Kill the gun devil and I'll grant you any request 🧚‍♀"

"??? You don't have to? I'll just do it?"

"Eh?👁👁"

Finishes the rest of the walk in mostly silence. You mean that if people love you they'll just do whatever? No give and take? She thinks she caught any easy break at first, but your way of thinking has a profound affect on her. "Your way of thinking is very profound" "no it's not" "?"

Low-key starts asking some of the other section members questions including you. "y/n why do you work for section 4? Do you trust my leadership?" "Leadership can only be good if it improved, and it can only improve through questioning." Ah, at this point you should be a pain in her side. But you're intriguing, beautiful, and genuine. And she's the control devil, so she does what she does best.

Somehow you lost your housing, oh you poor thing. And now somehow you've gotten yourself into trouble at HQ. Makima said she would do her best but did she really? You were let go, a devastating and confusing occurrence. Makima took pity and allowed you to move in with her and her huskies. She said you could stay with her as her dog.

"Well? Will you just do it this time?"

Her tone makes it sound like an honest question, but you know it's a dig from the previous night where she walked you home. This is an offer that can't be refused. Not if you wanted to live. When you do move in you're overwhelmed by the amount of dogs. Especially if you're a cat person. After a while makima does eventually warm up to the idea of having a cat after a few months.

When you first get to her apartment she doesn't really know what to do with you Other than the usual, which is control you. She gives you a strict schedule and expects you to follow it. In this case you can't question her.

Wake up at 5am

Get breakfast ready by 6:00am

Eat breakfast And feed the dogs

Morning walk with the dogs at 6:30am

Return by 7:15am

Makima leaves by 7:20am

The rest of the day is spent doing house work and running errands which it's self is not easy. High key her tone Changes, goes from manipulative and cunning, to sarcastic and demanding. Missing a chore or doing one incorrectly leads to punishment. She'll give you the idea that everything is fine before bringing up the mistake calmly. Shell tell you to get on your knees.

Treats you like a dog for fun but also for punishment. Has a dog cage for those occasions. Makes you sleep in it. Makes you wear a collar. Calls you a dog, but sometimes a cat depending on your temperament. Has you beg on your knees despite your pride, and even feeds you small treats when you behave. Will sic her dogs on you if you misbehave again. They won't hurt you, but they will restrain you. Her moods are particularly worse on rainy days or days when she meets with the "big wigs". She becomes more silent and short with you. Sometimes you may trigger her, other times there is no trigger. It just happens, she'll come home and place the collar on you and you know makima is in a bad mood

Cooking, baking, and movie nights Are a nightly routine. You're expected to watch her movies and sit through the whole thing, no matter how bad it is. Makima will always watch it all the way through. She prefers happy feel good and dramatic movies like titanic or the note book. She also has her favorites that she revisits every now and again. If a sex scene appears she doesn't even flinch, meanwhile you may be shifting uncomfortably. And looking away. Occasionally watches horror and action movies. Will let you choose a movie every now and then if she's in a good mood.

Cooking and baking with makima is the softest you'll see her. She always looks for new recipes to try and is meticulous about measurements. She loves to meal prep as well. Her kitchen looks like a chefs kitchen. Each spice is weighted and places in its own bowl. Everything is thawed out. The chicken is washed. The knives are sharpened. She has a whole arsenal of cooking utensils. She makes sure both of you are following the recipe to a T.

Makima loves taking walks with you. She's a morning person but often stays up late ish, the latest being 10 pm, before she orders you and the dogs to bed. Walks with her are uncomfortably cordial. She'll ask you about your day as if you haven't spent all day playing house. She'll talk about her day nonchalantly as well without giving too much away. It hurts when she talks about power and the others. She senses that and depending on what she needs she may either change the subject or talk about it more.

Makima has you sleeping in the dog cage at first, but on one particular night, after sobbing over one of her classics you comfort her and she decides to allow you into her bedroom.

That night she gets a bit curious. She calmly demans that you remove your clothes. She tentatively explores your body, as well as her own desires and need for touch. She finds that it's still pleasurable, but you were still Just a place holder. Something to satiate her until she reches her goal.

Will add onto this if I think of something more

[scentedpepper]

Missions, Malaise and Migas Pt. V | Leon Kennedy

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 6 Pt. 7 Final Part

Fandom: Resident Evil

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x Male Reader

Summary: Leon and Y/N have some underlying issues. Ones they tried to warn DSO about.

Content Warnings: None

Other Pairings: Luis Sera x Reader

Author Note(s): whoop whoop part five

Ada thinks it'll be fun.

It'll give her something to do besides be in and out of planes and cars and boats and a bar full of horny men and wasted women.

In her eyes, it will also be therapeutic for two love-scorned people who seem to be grappling and grinding on each other because of their own moronic emotions and stubborn attitudes.

What would it hurt?

She's already gathered the obvious.

–The obvious being Leon, that is. She could practically read it in the way he held his gun, the way his eyes twitched and how they looked at you. His gaze, a flash, but his behavior told her so many, many things.

The way his hands fiddled with it, the tapping of his left foot, the biting of his tongue. And you were oblivious. Moreso a side effect of you disliking the man than anything else. Because she knew you, she could see the skill in every wrinkle of your body. You were just a hardened, distrustful shell, and it was so cute. Two angry, headstrong people ready to bite the necks of anyone who entered their personal space. She was so giddy.

Pure bliss.

Excitement over cracking her dear Leon open like an egg.

All for you.

Her eyes flicker to you, then him, repeating, comparing. Analyzing and prying until finally, she rests back in the chair beside Luis and she's content, having already placed the seed of her diabolical plan.

"Luis. " She's almost gushing. "You got a map on the computer or something?"

He glances at her, and a broad smile comes across his face.

"Sí. Whatever you need. "

"Good. I have to go fetch something. "

She sees your eyebrow quirk towards her in curiousity. But you don't say much about it, your mouth occupied by a large bite of the sandwhich.

Before she heads out, she turns towards you and the words that escape her mouth cause the twitching of Leons trigger finger.

"I want you to come with me. "

"We have to go. " His tone is sharp and immediate, he doesn't allow room between her words and his. His eyes flicker quickly to yours. "I mean it, Y/N. "

Luis is shaking his head and you don't need words to tell Leon how you feel.

"We need to secure the area. If they aren't gonna find us, we have to try and find them. Otherwise, we're just waiting. "

"Then we wait. “

The words fly from your mouth like ninja stars.

"You expect to stay here longer than you have to?" Leon is aghast. "You got your rest. You've even ate. " He gestures to the plate. "Now let's go. "

"You want to walk back into the storm outside and spend the night out there when we have this?" Your arms spread outward. "What's the logic there, Leon? I mean, really, " you scoff, "what are we going to accomplish?"

"This isn't up for a vote, " Leon spits back, his head working, his tongue fumbling with how to explain to you that you're idiotic plan won't work. "We aren't waiting here to become dog food. “

"So sleeping in the woods solves that problem?"

"There isn't a better option. If they're aware of our presence and know we're with Luis, " he adds, "they're going to come hunting. "

"They haven't come yet, not even with everything, " a thumb rubs at a broken section of the thick wooden table. "Whatevers left of his crew is preoccupied trying to deal with the virus. "

"The calmer route will be to wait here. "

The sound of a new voice washes over you both.

Ada is about to take a step closer when Luis steps between her and you two, raising his hands, palms up, eyes wide. "Yo amigos, do you mind telling me what exactly is going on here?”

You both look at the taller man and his furrowed brow, attentive gaze. Ada has a bit of a smirk on her face, enjoying the dynamics.

It's only when Luis clicks his tongue and urges your attention do you answer.

"There's too much risk, with a lot of things. It's best we stay here. "

"Absolutely not. "

Leon talks almost immediately after you do, his words curt, and flat. Directly over yours.

Like you hadn't said anything to begin with.

"You do whatever the hell you want to, but we're not staying here to get gobbled up while you and Luis pal around, then use me as your shield when things go south. "

"You're so full of shit. " You spit back, your nerves crackling with energy.

His eyes are cool. "This isn't a democracy. “

"Neither is working for the fucking US government. "

Ada frowns a little bit at the outburst and her voice remains even.

"Try to relax. All of you. "

"Try this. " You gesture with a hand between yourself and Leon. "Assigning two people to bring back evidence of a potential new Bioweapon, and putting it on both of us is hard enough when you factor in all the shit trying to eat and kill us, " your hand is still up. "But the fact that one of these individuals is a glorified agent that's known for all but trying to get the drop on their partner isn't all that reassuring. “

Ada sees it. She sees it from Leon now. A crumbling, slowly as a boat losing its control over the waves in the ocean. The tightening of his lips, the firm set of his jaw, the quaking of his eyebrows.

And she sees you.

Recollecting. Repenting for one second as the heat radiates, scorching you alive from the inside out. You're embarrassed, hurt and even guilt is in there somewhere.

But it's not long.

Because your face is out of her view when you make headway for the door.

Ada's eyes widen ever-so slightly and the way Leon moves when you turn away. Like he's connected to you with a string and if he wants to let you go, he's gonna have to un-string himself first. It's in sync with Luis who gets up from his seat in an instant, his mouth opening to make verbal protests, to defuse.

But Adas hands are up, putting them both in pause like the press of a remote control button.

"Let him go. "

There's a mutual crease of foreheads and slack jaws.

"Ada. " The displeasure in Leon's voice is thick. Almost like smoke that fills the room and seems to get heavier and darker the longer time goes on.

She doesn't let him continue. "I'll go. Make sure he's safe. But you two– sit. "

Luis lowers himself first, without an ounce of fight, and Leon stays. His blue eyes pierce hers.

"He's volatile. " His tone is sharp.

She thinks about it a moment, how much truth to his statement. How far could you push him? How much shit could you feed to him until he really broke.

"He's not. " Ada admits. "Have you ever really spoken to your partner?" Her head tilts in a way that isn't a challenge, but curiosity, giving the impression that she wants him to think. "There's obviously a lot of information that has never been shared. "

"Didn't see you offering therapy sessions. " Leon spits.

Ada stares. Luis watches carefully, unsure how to react and unwilling to move.

Ada swallows like her throat is coated with tar, hardening her resolve. The expression she makes afterwards is one that almost physically sickens Leon.

It's patronizing.

Merciful.

She's looking at him like he's a child having a tantrum and not a man who had made hard choices since 1998.

"Oh, Leon. " Ada breathes the words out. She gives a slight shake of her head before moving on with her plan, feeling more confident in it as she gives Leon one last sympathetic look.

She hopes he can see the deeper meaning behind her look. How her eyes dip in sorrow, the way her features remain cool, untouched and not judgemental.

"It's not my job to play therapist. But if you'll allow, " she folds her hands neatly infront of her, "I'll see if I can not just secure him, but allow for a cooling off period between the two of you. "

"I don't care. "

"Sure you don't. " She gives him a quick wink before turning around, the sound of her footsteps against the tile becoming fainter and fainter.

He felt himself starting to get emotional, and suddenly, just as quickly as she appeared, she vanished again, going outside to fix a problem between two children with the capabilities to take down a large city.

[morgana-ren]

Been playing with an idea and I'm curious about your thoughts: Tav stays with Ascended Astarion because she knows he will hunt her down anyway, and that the hunt will wear away what remains of the gentle love she misses. Not even in a "I can rein his worst impulses in" way, but in a "I can't bear to destroy this illusion of kind love because it's the only thing I have left of him" way. idk just musing

Speaking from experience, sometimes we cling to scraps. Somewhere deep and desperate, we know the truth, but facing it would take what little is left of our dwindling sanity-- especially when you are literally trapped in the situation.

When you're staring down the barrel of the gun, sometimes it's better to live with the constant threat than it is to pull the trigger and shatter the illusion.

The die has been cast, the choices long made, and all that is left are consequences.

Being in love can be a wonderful thing. It really can, I hear. It can also be a fucking prison, and worse, it's one of your own making. You can't rationalize with your brain. Our lives would be exponentially easier if we could. Sure, you can know the truth, but there's always some little part of you that fights and wails against that truth. Anything to keep itself stable.

It's a game of giving yourself a reasonable doubt. It's presenting yourself with a logical conclusion, and that nasty little part going "You can't possibly know that!"

Chances are, you didn't fall in love with the monster. You fell in love with the man that came before him-- or at least had that illusion of existing. And Astarion was very much a man before he became... this. There was a time of tender love and genuine affection.

There was a time when he would do anything to protect her-- and he did. He turned to this ritual because he was afraid-- both for himself and for her-- and he did what he felt he needed to do to keep them both safe. To allow them to live long enough for that love to be able to breathe.

There was a time, seemingly not so long ago, when it was a kind love. And yet, these happy memories turned haunting and cold. Something that dances ever on the edge of Tav's brain, just out of reach. Ever grasping, ever longing, ever taunting.

To run would be to accept this truth. It would be to fully reject the lie that has kept her sane. It would be to take away the one raft she has in this maelstrom and leave herself to drown. It would be to accept the truth that this isn't love; it never could be.

Love is vulnerability and selflessness, and by nature, he cannot be. His love is a cage. It is something strangling and cruel that would sooner see her suffocate than free. That is his nature now.

He is capable of saying the right words and making the right motions-- just enough to keep the lie beautiful and believable-- but to acknowledge their emptiness would be to accept that they are nothing but a death rattle. The last note in the swan song that is his dying humanity. It is a ghost of something that once existed, and has chosen to haunt and possess rather than go in peace.

If she runs, he will catch her, and there will be no pretense to his grip. That illusion is gone. She will have played her hand, laid the cards on the table, her intentions bare. And it's a game that not only does he not play by the rules of, he is simply not playing. What she has is the illusion of choice, and sometimes, it's easier to work at building that facade than it is to accept it.

When you look at him, it's those same eyes that once held adoration. The hand that chokes you is the same one that loved you once. You like to think it's still in there, somewhere, deep deep down. If you could only reach--

And what hurts more? To stay and keep trying, keep choking, keep suffering? Or to simply let it end?

Well, when there is no end even if you try, the answer seems obvious. Keep it dressed up in your mind, keep disguising it, keep trying, keep reaching for it. Something tells you that you haven't seen the worst part of him yet, and that monster will come knocking once it isn't placated.

His love for her became something very twisted and wretched. In his mind, he likely does still love her. He is showing it the only way he knows how; the only way he is capable of showing it. If she were to leave, he would feel rejected-- abandoned. Except she no longer has a choice, does she? She runs, he will find her, and he will make her love him, or she will suffer until she does.

It seems a mix of self preservation and mental preservation brewing in a caustic mix with the the dying gasp of what was true love for him. It's dancing on the edge of a razor forever, and in this case, it's quite literally forever.

Maybe she thinks she can remind him somehow. That maybe, one day, she can find a-- a cure or or something to bring him home to her. He's in there somewhere, right? Surely, he must be. This is still the same man she once loved. He's there, he has to be.

It's either keep holding out hope for this, or acknowledge the reality of the situation. It's not as easy of a choice as one might think.

[aydaptic]

Hope this isn’t a weird ask but I read one of your analysis’ recently and also a post (from someone else) about how that if Connor acted like Nines does in fics (not taking Gavin’s orders, being a smartass etc) that Gavin still wouldn’t like him, so I was wondering if you would make an analysis on why Gavin x Nines works but Gavin and Connor doesn’t.

Short answer: Psychology.

Long answer: Con's overall canon personality -- traits that we have literally no control over even as players picking dialogue options -- is incompatible and undesirable to Gav/Gav's personality type.

1.) Whether ppl like admitting it or not, Con has canon set personality traits that we as players can't decide. He's awkward, a people-pleaser, and a doormat (unless someone is directly in the way of his mission.) The way he talks, allows ppl to metaphorically step on him -- hence the "doormat" metaphor -- sits in chairs, etc.

Someone: "...but he's not a deviant yet!" Nothing in his programming is telling him to be a pushover. That's a choice he's making. We know this bc he can stand up to Hank. Gav's personality type has no respect for ppl who are pushovers in any way, shape, or form. You can literally choose Con to spill Hank's drink. When Gav shoulder-decks/punches him, however, you can't do anything. Con lets Gav specifically push him around. That mindset, with a guy like Gav, is outright abusive. A relationship won't be satisfying for either of them.

2.) "Opposites attract" is BS. Ppl only believe this bc they think they're more accepting than they actually are. They have no actual experience with it. It's an idealized view. Ppl can be drawn to differences -- usually to traits they wish they had -- but both parties are miserable in the long run. If you're a diplomatic person, and your partner wants to throw hands, you're incompatible. Full stop. It's logic and common sense. For any relationship to work happily, your core values have to be the same, or you're living a lie. You're being unfair to both yourself and your partner.

3.) How Gav's personality type works psychologically...

Gav wants to be challenged = Con won't challenge him.

Gav doesn't respect pushovers = Con is a pushover.

Gav doesn't like people-pleasers = Con is a people-pleaser.

They won't even work as friends.

Someone: "Gavin is just like me and I love Connor!" No. You're not like Gav. You wish you were like Gav. If you were like Gav, you wouldn't like Con among many other things, so stop bullsh*tting yourself. The ones unironically saying this don't understand character nuance/psychology.

For anyone saying Gav is, "just like them..."

) Would you take stabs at Hank's alcoholism to his face?

) Would you take stabs at Con to his face?

) Would you physically attack Con?

) Would you pull a gun on Con?

) Would you try to kill Con?

) Would you see androids as nothing but machines?

) Would you laugh at a homicide victim?

If you can't truthfully say "yes" to all of this, no, you're not even similar.

So to repeat myself to tie everything together... why Reed900 works, and the other ship doesn't, is psychology. I won't mention the other ship name bc I don't bring negativity into other ship tags.

[vanillaxoshi]

Experience in Suffering - Elementals Seperated AU

“So, you’ve found your way here. Greetings”

It looks up, or at least try to face the direction of the voice. No need to even use its scan, it could already tell who it is.

The spirit of light, the light of misfortune, origin of greed-

(Fellow sinner…)

But how? How could they wake from the Moth’s Dream? Is it because they are a spirit? The robot’s system was running in whatever ways it could to find an answer. Cross referencing from the Spirit of Dreams herself is out of the picture, as she was the one controlling the dreams. So why?

“I can see the gears turning in your head, it would be better if you used that for other things though” The spirit said, and it remembered. Now is no time to stand by, it has an order to follow.

Apprehend the spirit of light.

The gears within it began to churn and form, changing its fingers into cannons and guns, but the spirit remained there, simply watching. How irrational. If they had told it to get on with things, why aren’t they doing anything?

“You’re not going to go ahead and fire?”

No, not when it has its suspicions. Experience tells the robot that if one seems very confident, it means that one has a plan. It had only been able to grasp a small fraction of the spirit’s memory before, which amounted to a lifetime of memories.

Just what do they know?

The spirit descended, landing right in front of the robot, making it move back. What is the spirit doing? Do they have a death wish? It can pull the triggers right here and apprehend the spirit that way.

But it can’t. Something in the back of its mind tells it that won’t work. Perhaps a faulty old gear, against better judgement it once again lowers its weapon.

“Usually, I like to save my thoughts for all things logical and practical, but I find philosophy becoming increasingly prevalent. Much to my dismay, I’ve been forced to face it outright” A false sigh escaped the spirit, as fake as their demeanor.

“We’re quite similar are we?” What do they mean by that?

“I don’t know if it’s only the extent of your powers, or some cruel irony, you just had to choose my most painful years. I don’t blame the child creating the dreams, twisting events to fulfill my desires at that time. It made me realize something”. Despite not having eyes, the robot could feel the spirit’s gaze.

“Despite being awake, we are both dreaming, dreaming of a better time”

They took a step forward, it floated backwards.

“Both long to return to that kinder past, maybe with our knowledge we could have fixed everything”. No, no it doesn’t. Yes it does

“But we can’t can we? It’s impossible. The only way left is forward. Fearing more pain we tell ourselves to walk the easiest road ahead of us. Fighting back hurts so we stopped fighting completely”. It wished its ego systems weren’t active, so it can’t comprehend these thoughts, but the robot can’t shut down that program no matter how hard it tried.

“Hoping for the day we simply stop functioning”. Are they trying to understand it? To achieve some form of sympathy? If that’s it then sadly, it won’t work.

It never did before, no matter what…

“No choice but to keep our accursed existence, only look at past sins as if we’re reading things in a book-“

It happened so fast. How did its sensors not catch that? The robot could only question, as its right arm is now in the grip of the spirit of light.

“It doesn’t have to be this way though. Allow me to demonstrate how to look at one’s sins in the face”

The emotions flooding its systems right now- Is it fear? Shock? Horror? What even is going on? No events like this has happened in the past! It felt its palm being turned over- Stop it! Stop this!

Just remembering the existence of the left arm, the robot pointed it at the one in front of it. Cease this insanity now foolish spirit of light-

“Zaphkiel. Yod”

A loud bang went off, but it felt no damage. In fact, there’s damage at all. What did the spirit point at?

The silence is deafening. The android robot dare not move, fearing the touch on it’s misshapen hands might leave, that there would be a thud on the floor, and the spirit would be gone, meaning it had failed it’s mission.

It felt as if time had slowed to a stop, before it heard that voice again.

“Well… That was a certainly a trip down memory lane. I knew your power didn’t have something as silly as a 100 year limit” It sounded as if the spirit was smiling ear to ear, taking delight in its horror, a feeling it doesn’t want to experience again.

Welp, been a while since I actually wrote something. Wanted cool Solar and maybe drop some lore of mah boi Remiel. I also just discovered editing the texts

We got remiel!!

Those lines in the end are added hmmm

Reading this more thoroughly

solar being eerily poetic to Remiel and Remiel just not comprehending whatever is happening being with Solar

The android crossed out, so this period Remiel hasnt considered himself much of a person just a robot with a job to do

Trying to supress what makes him less of a robot too

And Solar is helping but in a not so pleasant way? Like help Remiel through this crisis of his despite both of them just gone through a recap of what Neira did for them

[man-moth-hook-hand]

Welcome to My Nightmare Ch. 3

Things start to pick up. Adam becomes more prevelent to the story, Michael fades out. Perhaps the boys are more than they seem? Maybe you realize things too late? 

Side note *This is the length of the two previous chapter combinned, a lot happens*

Masterlist

Chapter Three: I Walk Among the Creatures of the Night

Also, for those who wanted to be tagged! 

@the-faceless-bride

@forestcottage

@simpingforthe80s

I didn’t get good sleep last night, thankfully Lucy woke me up. She noticed, making a comment on my undereye bags. She bought my excuse about staying up too late. My mind couldn’t shake that man. He was. . . menacing. Not in a scary way, but in a nonconfrontational way, lurking in the shadows, never emerging to answer my questions. I don’t know what his motive is, why he’s following me, who he is, and why it’s only him and not Paul. He couldn’t possibly look at me through the window, I’m too high up. Right?  That bring up my dreams, how is he in them? Why is he reoccurring? What about him makes him so special?

I must be paranoid. I must be. He must have just frightened me; therefore, I’m seeing him everywhere because I’m thinking about him all the time. I mean think about it, if you want your world to change, you must perceive it to be a certain way. If I want him to follow me, I must assume he will, therefore it will happen. It’s like wanting a job promotion really bad, and eventually you get it. After I ran through my logic a few times I came to the conclusion I was being silly.

As I got ready for work, I picked up my ring, earrings, and necklace. Then, I made my way into the small bathroom to check over my outfit and fix my hair. Doing my hair in any way always made me relaxed. It was therapeutic in a way, to move each strand and take my time adjusting small details to change my look. That’s what makes me special after all.  

/|\^._.^/|\

Jennifer greeted me with a wave once I made it to the store. “Hey! How was the guy from last night? Did you go home with him. . . “ She questioned while wiggling her brows.

My face crinkled in disgust “Girl, he reeked of weed and asked if I wanted to ‘Hang out with some cool cats.’ Absolutely not!”

“That’s hilarious! I have to tell Adam that.” She walked behind the counter. “Come here, I’ll show you how to open.” She counted money, flipped the signs and lights on, and finally put out the displays. “We always put covers over the glass and the other displays in the back room. Brenda’s always freaking out about people stealing but, I don’t know if she’s ever heard of shoplifting.”

I marveled at the color-coded jewelry around the shop. To the right was the checkout counter with the more expensive jewelry, across there was the children’s and costume, and the mid-range was seated between the piercing station and the counter. Behind the counter was a door labeled EMPLOYEES ONLY. I smiled to myself; perhaps things were turning around for me.

The rest of the day was average, Jennifer had to pierce people’s ear because I wasn’t certified yet. It was a little jarring to see parents come in with their five year olds, or even younger children. My mother took me to get my ears pierced when I was an infant, I couldn’t believe they allowed it too. Five rolled around and James, what you would call a textbook definition of a nerd came in for the night shift with Brenda.

“How did your first day go?” Brenda asked. Today she was dawning green eyeshadow and pink lipstick. Interesting choice.

“Jennifer pierced some peoples ears and everything else seemed pretty regular, I think” I wasn’t really sure how to answer.

“Oh, that’s right! We need to get you to piercing people ears, that’s how I made most of my money, until that other guy came in offering at a cheaper price. He uses guns and that tears the ear, causing it to keloid or heal wrong.” She shook her head in distaste. “If anybody asks why ours are more expensive, that’s why, and they’re real silver and gold. Not that fake nickel shit he’s got.”

“You got it.” I said. I waved my goodbyes to everyone and tried to find my wat to Lucy. She mentioned a video store. I wandered the board walk until I found a store with TV’s and magazines. Max’s Video Store, how original. Inside, I spotted Lucy talking to a young girl with brown curly hair.

“Hey,” I waved to the both of them.

“Hi, (Y/N). this is Maria, my coworker.” Lucy gestured to Maria. She waved in response.  

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m not trying to rush you, but when do you get off?” I felt a little pushy asking her, but I wanted to just relax after dealing with cranky customers for eight hours.

“Come back in about an hour and a half, ok? Max’ll be here then.”

“You got it!” And with that I went off on my own. Shortly after stepping out of the store, I found Paul, alone again. I wondered if he even knew that white haired guy. He must, they were with each other.

“Hey Lady!” Paul bounced over to me, “What’cha doing?”

“I just got of work, I’m waiting for my ride. How ‘bout you?” I scanned the area, nothing suspicious. . . yet.

“That’s cool, so are you doing anything later?” Paul pursed his lips.

“Paul,” I sighed “I just said I was waiting for my ride.” He was most certainly not the brightest.

“Oh yeah.”

“Anyway, I’ll have to be goin’ now,” I smiled at him. Not a thought was behind those eyes.

“Alright. Well, I got to go too, see ya around squirt!” Paul yelled before dashing into the crowd. Yep, no thoughts, head empty.

I headed inside the video store, Lucy mentioned how her dad didn’t have a TV, but it wouldn’t hurt to look at some movies, right? I spotted Gizmo on the cover of Gremlins, one of my favorite movies. I went to reach for him when someone tapped my shoulder.

“Adam!” I was pleasantly surprised. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much, I just saw you in here and wanted to know if you were busy later.”

“I would but, my ride,” I gestured to Lucy, “I don’t have a ride without her.”

“I have a car,” Adam quickly suggested, “I could take you home if you wanted.”

I thought over it for a moment, “Sure, I think I could work something out, let me tell Lucy.” She was busy talking to a customer,I waited until she was done. “Hey, Lucy, my friend Adam said he would take me home tonight, so you don’t have to.”

“Oh? alright, you kids be careful!” She tried to tell me before we ran out of the store.

“Alright, what’s the plan?” I eagerly look to him.

“Well, I didn’t really plan anything; however, if you’re so inclined to do something, we can go to the beach, maybe star gaze a little?” He looked at me and wiggled his brows, I see where Jennifer got it from.

“Sure, I’d like that.” I had never really had a guy ask me to do something like that, it was romantic instead of some obscene suggestion, or I had hoped so.

Once the ride to the beach was over, Adam brought out a basket from the backseat, almost like he had been secretly planning this. He laid an old mauve purple blanket, which I think was a rich purple at one point. Then he set the basket close to him, bringing out two cans of Pepsi, along with a bag of Doritos for each.

“Seems like you planned this?” I playfully nugged his shoulder.

“What? me? no way,” He laughed at the thought. “Hey, I’ll be back, I have to powder my nose,” Adam smacked his nose as if there were a powder puff there. He seemed to be funnier the longer I was around him.

I laid there looking at the stars trying to decipher how people found the constellations. I mean, this is impressive, right? I feel like I’ve seen the big dipper in three different places. My nonsensical ramblings were soon interrupted by Adam standing ten feet away from me.

“Jesus Christ, Adam!” I clenched my heart for a moment, “Adam?” There was no answer, he looked a little different than before.  

“You mind if I join you?” the man asked. He was tall, with long dark brown hair, and conveniently didn’t wear a shirt. His slight New Jersey accent broke the silence “You wanna go for a ride? There’s the bluffs not too far from here.” he suggested.

“No, Uh, my boyfriend’s coming back so I can’t go with you. Plus, my mom’s expecting me home tonight.” I tried to shake the weird stranger off me. I don’t know if he believed me or not, I hoped that he did.

“Can I help you?” Adam’s voice came from the dark.

“No, just wanted to ask the lady if she wanted to go for a ride, I see she’s got that taken care of.” The man seemed to understand that he could not follow me without a fuss. He turned the direction that I think he came from and walked away.  

Adam rushed over to me. “Who was that?” He whispered.

“I don’t know,” my heart was beating too fast, I felt it logged in my throat. I looked to where he had gone, and my stomach dropped.

“(Y/N)” Adam tried to get my attention, “(Y/N)!” he shouted.

I looked at him. “he’s gone.”

“Yes, I know-“

“No!” I pointed to where he stood, “He’s gone.”

Adam glanced to where the man stood moments before, nothing. Somehow that was more terrifying than some person being there. Was he watching us from somewhere else? Behind? In the car? Or perhaps he was some sort of creature ready to pounce, waiting for the right moment to catch up off guard.

“Maybe we should do this some other time,” Adam suggested, “Let’s go watch a movie or something.” As we packed up our things as left, I looked once more into the night. Nothing. Perhaps a movie wouldn’t be so bad, it’s just a movie, right? Like now, it’s just a movie, it’s not real.

The only bad thing is that Adam had failed to mention the movie was at his house. “So, what do you want to watch?” He sifted thought the VHS tapes on a shelf.

I looked around the living room before planting myself on the brown couch. “I guess what ever you want to.”

“You’ll love this, It’s one of my favorite movies, besides some of the classis monster favorites.” He pulled out a movie called Fright Night.

“What’s it about?” I asked. the movie had seemed familiar. “I think I saw the trailer for that a couple years ago.”

“So like, there’s the main character Charley, and his girlfriend Amy. Charley gets a new neighbor and thinks he’s a vampire, especially after people start to go missing. Anyway, the vampire tries to seduce Amy.” Adam popped the VHS into the TV.

“What happens at the end?” I asked as Adam plopped next to me. Maybe a horror movie where a young girl is stalked by a vampire wasn’t the best option after the events of the night.

“That’s a surprise! But what I can tell you is that it has an absolutely amazing soundtrack. I have the CD actually, it was hard to find for sure.

Halfway into the movie Adam slung his arm over my shoulder. It was really cute. It was nice to have someone do little gestures to me, it makes life special. “Ya know,” Adam interrupted the movie, “this may be a little forward, but could I kiss you?”

I was absolutely dumfounded for a moment, I think my mouth was open because his expression changed quickly. “If you don’t want to-”

“No, it’s ok. I just don’t really have a lot of practice.” I reassured him.

“You ever kissed anyone before?” He leaned in close, I smelled his cologne.  

“Well, yes, but I just don’t kiss many people so I’m not sure if I’m any good.” I stared at his lips, looking at his eyes was too personal.

“I’ll teach you, come here.” Adam put his hand on my cheek, slowly pulling me closer. I placed my hand on his shoulder. His breath stuttered for a moment, our lips barely grazing each other. My heart was beating too fast, my head was hot, and I enjoyed it all too much. When our lips finally met, it didn’t feel like I had expected. We were almost in synch. Almost. Something felt slightly off, like his lips didn’t exactly match mine, perhaps our rhythms were off.

A crash outside brought us out of our kiss. I glanced at the window behind the couch we were sitting on, a flash of white caught my eye. “What was that?” I asked.

“Sorry, we’ve had a bit of a raccoon problem lately. I’ll go check it out.”

“No, that’s ok. I don’t think you should go outside.” I pulled Adam back. “Something just feels off.” I scream on the TV seemed like it was foreshadowing Adam going outside.

“Oh my God, It’s almost morning. I’m sorry but I need to start getting ready for work, we’re one of the only mechanic shops that are open 24/7.” Adam rushed to his room complaining on the way.

I sat on the couch thinking about what had happened. Wasn’t I supposed to feel good? It was a classic love story. He’s the sweet, charming guy and I’m the girl who things eventually work out for, right? I kept wondering what was wrong, this was how things were supposed to be. Every time someone mentioned meeting their partner back home it was like this. Why don’t I get to have my special moment?

Adam emerged from the hallway dressed in a mechanic’s outfit, his name embroidered in white. “I can take you home if you want, it might be on my way to work.” He grabbed his keys and dashed to the door.

“Sure.” I got off the couch and told him the address. I didn’t speak on the ride there. I couldn’t believe he just ignored what happened. The kiss, the noise outside, didn’t it matter? “Goodbye, Adam. Thank you for the ride.

“Hey, you alright?” He grabbed my hand.

“Yes, sorry my mind’s just a little preoccupied. I saw this guy at the concert on the boardwalk a couple of nights ago, and we locked our eyes, like really hard. Ever since then I think I keep seeing him, and running into him. I just feel like I’m being stalked. Ya know” I really didn’t want Adam to think it was the kiss, even thought deep down it was.

“Hey, I watch out for you, ok?” He grabbed my hand, “I have to go to work, but if you need anything here’s where you can reach me.” He scribbled down two numbers. One was labeled HOME and the other AL’S AUTO. I thanked him before going inside. I looked at the clock on the way up the stairs, 5:37 am. Jesus, I was out late. The sun is literally rising.

And with that, another day in paradise had ended.

[beewolfwrites]

The Oar in the Sand - Chapter Twenty-Seven: Release

Hey guys! Sorry again for such a delay. 

Personally, I admit I kind of just wanted to get this chapter over and done with. I'm not a huge fan of how this game turned out. But oh well! I’m just looking forward to the reunion. 

Thanks so much for continuing to read, even with my super slow updates! :)

___________________________________________________

If there was one thing I knew about Hearts games, it was that there was always a solution hidden in plain sight. 

I had only played a handful of them, but during the Laser Tag game, the sign by the counter had told us to choose a gun without specifying which type. And then there was the Witch Hunt. If only we had burned Momoka’s body first, we could have avoided such catastrophic destruction. There was only one thing connecting the two. 

The rules. 

Sitting at the desk in my hotel room, I talked myself through the rules of the game once again. Izanami had been rather open about the fact that she was only telling us some of the rules, but in actuality, the only ones she didn’t mention were related to the point system. 

‘But what else is there?’ I murmured. 

‘Round 13: In a logical argument, and in mathematical proof, a symbol consisting of three dots arranged in an upright triangle is used to represent which word?

1 - Because

2 - Therefore

3 - However

4 - Respectively’ 

I paid little attention to the question that appeared on the screen. Instead I traced the wooden surface of the desk, mentally going over and over the same rules and wondering what I could possibly have missed. 

There has to be something! 

I tapped my fingers on the desk in an attempt to jog my memory, but it wasn’t working. I was wary of the timer ticking away. Even though the game was designed for us to cheat, five minutes still seemed like an absurd amount of time, especially if we were just sitting here at a desk, bored out of our minds… 

My fingers stilled. 

I looked up, suddenly aware that yes, I was in a hotel room. I was in a hotel room with old red curtains, dismal brown walls, a phone handset on the desk, and a plush bed with starched white pillows. This whole time, I had been so focused on the screens that I barely registered where I was. 

That’s it. 

‘Five minutes.’ We had been given five minutes to allow us to cheat without being caught. ‘But that’s not the only reason.’

I remembered now. 

At the Beach, right after we had burned Momoka’s body, we had all walked out of the hotel together. Arisu and Usagi had been walking a few paces ahead of me, but I caught snippets of their conversation. 

He was telling Usagi about how he’d won the The Four of Hearts. He had described it grimly, how there were only five players, and that they had had to climb into window cleaning lifts dangling over the side of an office building. Apparently, the game had involved answering questions, but the questions became more and more ridiculous as time passed. Arisu was adamant that he would have died if not for one thing. Down in the lobby where they had waited for the game to start, there was a stack of leaflets on the reception counter. He had skimmed through a leaflet just to pass the time, but in fact, the leaflets contained all the answers to the questions. The solution was right in front of them all along.  

Perhaps… could it be? 

I looked around at my hotel room. Yes, we were sitting at these desks in front of the monitors, but we weren’t strapped into our seats or confined in any way. If anything, we were free to sit on the bed, or use the ensuite bathroom if we wanted. It would be risky, and the King could potentially assume that we were cheating if she saw us wandering around the room, but there was nothing stopping us. 

I glanced at the timer. Three minutes.

I yanked open the desk drawers, rummaging through them one by one. The only thing inside was a dusty stack of individually wrapped teabags and a sachet of instant coffee. Leaping from my seat, I rummaged around the room, opening the wardrobe doors and dropping several wire hangers in the process. The clatter was as sharp as nails. 

I froze, glancing at the monitor across the room. 

Four more players were dead, having been caught cheating under Izanami’s watchful eye. There were now ten of us still alive. Ten lives. 

If I find a solution, I can still save ten people. 

Raking my hand under the pillows, I searched the flimsy bedside tables, finding nothing but a yellowed room service menu, dead flies and more dust. I felt like cutting my losses and settling for choosing answers at random again, but there had be be something here. This couldn’t all be for nothing. 

My eyes slid to the timer again. One minute and twenty seconds left. 

Come on! Please let there be something. 

I moved across the room towards the ensuite, wondering whether there was something hidden inside. But then a thought struck me, and I stopped in the doorway. 

The room service menu. 

Backtracking, I opened the bedside drawer and pulled out the flimsy laminated sheet, briefly scanning it over. At first glance it looked like an ordinary menu with various meals and drinks on offer. Nothing special. But then my eyes caught a section of writing at the top. The Japanese had been translated into English below. 

‘If you are ever in need of assistance, please don’t hesitate to call reception.’

I flipped it over, checking the back cover too. ‘There isn’t even a number for reception on here.’ 

There was a phone handset on the desk. It couldn’t be a coincidence. But then, the questions… 

There’s no number for reception, but there are numbers for each round. 

Scrabbling back to the desk, I slid into the chair and picked up the phone handset, holding it to my ear. There was grainy static on the line. There was no way to tell if this would work, but it was worth a shot. 

‘Round Thirteen,’ I muttered, punching the numbers one and three into the receiver. My eyes lifted to the timer.

There’s only 40 seconds left. 

At first, there was just that same static buzzing down the line. Then the phone suddenly cut to voicemail. A calm, professional female voice read out a message in Japanese, before switching to English. 

‘Thank you for calling Reception,’ the voice said. ‘Unfortunately we cannot take your call right now. However, please note that the answer you are looking for is option number two, “However”.’ 

The phone dropped from my hand with a clatter and I grasped the remote, punching the button for option two. 

There were still seventeen seconds left. 

I kicked the wall twice, hoping that it wasn’t too late to save my mysterious neighbour. Two kicks thudded from the other side. Once again, in front of the webcam, I trailed my eyes over the monitor, pretending to be deep in thought with my fingers resting against my chin. I drummed them in twos, creating a pattern just like Chishiya had done in the Jack of Hearts. 

Ten seconds! 

On the screen, I could see that so many of us had died. Out of the survivors, I recognised the teenage girl and the young man with the green cap. The teenage girl was grimacing, looking back and forth between the two screens. Meanwhile, the man was strangely calm. 

Three. 

Another player’s collar exploded as he held up up two fingers. We were now down to nine players. 

Two. 

I could still save nine people. 

One. 

The results were in. Option number two glowed green, as expected, and most of the players had received my message. My points jumped from 27 to 30, with everyone gaining three points aside from the man in the green cap, who had lost five. His points were now down to 20. As harsh as it was, I didn’t feel sorry for him. He had tried to trick everyone once, there was no telling what he would do now. 

The next question appeared, and with the phone beside me, I felt a surge of confidence. 

‘Round 14: Which body of water was called “Mare Internum” by the Romans?

1 - The Black Sea

2 - The Caspian Sea

3 - The North Sea

4 - The Mediterranean Sea’

I had a strong feeling that the answer was number four, the Mediterranean Sea. Even the latin, “internum” could be translated into “internal” - the internal sea connecting each of the countries spanning the Mediterranean. But there was no room for chance, and with five minutes on the clock, I dialled the number 14 into the phone handset. 

‘Thank you for calling Reception,’ the same voice said, a little more fuzzy this time. ‘Unfortunately we cannot take your call right now. However, please note that the answer you are looking for is option number four, “The Mediterranean Sea”.’

That fuzzy tone hadn’t been there before. It could only mean one thing: there was a limit on how many times I could dial reception. It would have to be kept as a last resort. 

With no time to lose, I kicked the wall four times under the desk. As inconspicuously as possible, I drummed my fingertips in a pattern of four against my lips, disguising the motion as a nervous tremor. In the previous times I had tried this, the others had seemingly picked up the hint. However, I noticed that two more players had been eliminated, leaving just seven of us to go. 

This game wouldn’t last much longer. That much was obvious. 

From the corner of my eye, I noticed the young man in the green cap flashing two fingers at the screen. It made me wonder whether my tapping was obvious enough. I could try again with a message that was easier to understand. But was it really worth the risk? 

No. 

The timer dropped to zero, and my heart sank a little. Thanks to that little trick, courtesy of the man in the green cap, most players had selected option number two. Only myself, the teenage girl, and the man himself had chosen correctly. The three of us gained one point. 

It was infuriating, seeing him ruin things for everyone so easily. However, it wasn’t the end of the world. So long as I knew the right answers, I could keep screwing up his plans. But as for the teenage girl…

I just hope she trusts in me. 

Several rounds passed by, and there were only four players remaining. There was myself, the young man, the teenage girl, and an older woman who kept nibbling her fingertips, probably out of anxiety. After all, she had been reduced to a terrifying four points.

‘Round 21: What biblical name can you translate the HD 140283, one of the most ancient known stars at over 13.5 billion years old?

1 - Tirzah

2 - Jethro

3 - Methuselah

4 - Ananias’

Once again, I was stumped. 

I hated relying on something other than my own knowledge, but I wasn’t going to overlook a solution when it was offered to me. Giving in, I dialled the number 21 into the phone handset, this time having to focus intensely to hear the voice through a barrier of static. 

‘Thank you for calling Reception. Unfortunately we cannot take your call right now. However, please note that the answer you are looking for is option number three, “Methuselah”.’ 

Option number three. I kicked the wall three times as usual. Surprisingly, my neighbour was still alive, although we were limited in spreading the message. As more of us had died, wall-to-wall communication was no longer an option for most. There was no choice but to use the webcam. On the monitor, the main with the green cap frowned deeply, then quickly flashed four fingers at us. I shook my head. 

‘Not a chance, asshole.’  

The older woman ceased biting her fingers and looked over her shoulder anxiously. I pursed my lips, curling a single finger over my mouth. 

It’s option one, take it or leave it. 

The teenage girl nodded once. The woman saw the gesture, but her eyes shifted back and forth. I looked over at the man. He flashed four fingers once again. 

‘Don’t do it!’ I hissed. ‘Don’t listen to him.’ 

I could see that familiar desperation in her eyes. It was a glint I recognised all too well, having witnessed it in twisted faces frozen by death, and in the final surviving moments of games. She wasn’t thinking clearly, she was just desperate for an answer. Any answer. The timer ticked away to zero, and I sat back in my chair, hands shaking around my remote. 

Of course he had done it. He’d tricked her. 

The bastard! 

And now, the woman was the only player to choose incorrectly. Her points dropped by five, hitting minus one. She began to hyperventilate. Her fingers curled around the collar, scrabbling to pull it off. It didn’t budge. A sickening few seconds passed… it was too long, too uncomfortable to watch. The collar burst open in a mess of pulp and blood. 

I looked down. Earlier, I had watched the same gruesome event over and over with a cool detachment. But now, something had switched. 

With the woman gone, there were only three of us left. I had 37 points, whereas the teenage girl was at 24. The man in the green cap had 36. 

‘Round 22: In which book is “Zembla” the name of a fictional country?

1 - Pale Fire, by Vladimir Nabokov

2 - The Memory Police, by Yoko Ogawa

3 - Catch 22, by Joseph Heller

4 - Lonely Castle in the Mirror, by Mizuki Tsujimura’

I almost laughed. In the previous world, I had spent an entire summer flipping back and forth between the pages of this book. The layout of the novel was like a convoluted maze, a puzzle to crack. 

As a test, I kicked the wall once. My neighbour kicked back. 

So it’s definitely one of those two. 

This would be interesting. So far, they hadn’t tried to trick me. However, reaching a Game Clear would be so easy. It wouldn’t take much to feed me the wrong answer through the wall, whilst lying to the remaining few on the screen. I knew I wouldn’t stoop so low, but would my neighbour? 

No, there would be no point. Once the trust is broken between you, there would be no going back. It was hardly as if a wrong answer meant automatic death. 

The man in the green cap mouthed the word “two”, probably banking on neither of us having read these books. But I didn’t react. I simply kicked the wall again - one kick, one answer. The reply was instant. One kick. 

I smiled. 

The man shook his head, frustrated. Then he mouthed the word “two” once more… right before his collar erupted, blood spewing over his monitor. 

Karma really does work in funny ways. 

Now, it was just me and the teenage girl, and so long as she continued to trust me, I could get us both out of this stupid hotel. 

The timer reached zero, and just as I thought, the teenage girl and I had both chosen option one. When the next question appeared, it didn’t really matter which answer we chose, or even whether it was correct. All we had to do was choose the same answer to gain points. I met her gaze through the webcam, offering a reassuring smile as I kicked the wall. She returned a kick, nodding with silent agreement. 

Deep down, I was glad that she was my neighbour. The memory of darkness and trickling blood now seemed a distant memory. 

Perhaps I can finally redeem things.  

As four more rounds passed, we kicked our way to completion, mutually agreeing on an answer rather than agonising over which was correct. Before long, her points had climbed all the way up to 48, whereas I was already in the clear, standing strong at 58. 

And now, this would be the final round. 

‘Round 32: What is simultaneously the colour black in printing, potassium in chemistry, and a strikeout in baseball?

1 - R

2 - K

3 - Q

4 - J’

I knew nothing of baseball or printing, and Chemistry had been my weakest subject in school. I barely knew my covenant bonds from my ionic bonds. Although I did know the answer to this question. I had paid enough attention to remember seeing the letter K on the periodic table, even if it had been years since I last studied the subject. 

I kicked the wall twice, and the message was returned. 

Waiting the full five minutes was agonising. But I reminded myself to have patience. Soon we would be leaving this hotel the same way we entered. 

After the longest five minutes of my life, the timer finally dropped to zero and option two, K, glowed green. As did our point counters on the screen. 

‘ALL REMAINING PLAYERS HAVE REACHED 50 POINTS. 

GAME CLEAR - CONGRATULATIONS.’ 

I leaned back in my chair, closing my eyes with a sigh. The collar clicked, releasing itself. I pulled it away and left it on the desk, although I could still feel the burning imprint of the metal against my neck. 

Shaking lightly, I stood, gripping the back of my chair. I almost couldn’t believe it, that luck had spared me from death once again. The door was right there, across the room, but it felt like a distant dream. I was scared that if I opened it, I would wake up from a deep sleep, only to realise that I was in fact still trapped here. 

Slowly approaching the door, I took the card key from my pocket and tested the lock. As promised, it released. I emerged into the dark hallway, and at the same time, the door next to mine opened. The teenage girl noticed me, her expression lighting up with pure joy. All at once, I felt the weight of my guilt dissipate within me. 

I was finally able to save you.

‘It was you, all along.’ She stopped in front of me, gripping her card key like a lifeline. ‘I would have died if it was someone else.’ 

‘勝ててよかった,’ I replied. It was a relief to see her standing in front of me, alive. I’m glad the two of us made it. 

Before either of us could speak further, footsteps sounded from deeper within the hall, and I turned to see Izanami walking toward us, crown angled perfectly on her head like a true King. She didn’t seem angry or hurt that we had cleared the game. Instead, her eyes glittered under the dim yellow glow from the wall lights.

‘I can’t say I’m surprised,’ she remarked, flashing me that sly smile from earlier. ‘I’ve heard about you. They say you’re a strong player when you want to be.’ 

‘Who’s they?’ 

‘Nobody you need to know about.’ Izanami finally acknowledged the teenage girl hovering behind me, and gestured to the elevators at the end of the hallway. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘You’ve won the right to live another day. You should make the most of it.’ 

The girl was practically bouncing on her heels. She bowed a little too deeply to each of us in turn. ‘Thanks again Onee-san,’ she said to me. ‘If I see you again, I owe you one!’ 

I wanted to thank her too. If not for her secret messages, I would likely have died. But before I could say anything she had already disappeared into the elevator, eager to embrace her freedom.  Meanwhile, Izanami was leaning against the dark panelled wall, watching me closely. 

‘You two must have had some secret code. In those last few rounds, neither of you tried anything on camera.’ 

‘壁を共有しました,’ I admitted. We shared a wall. ‘ルームサービスの策略が探し出します’ And I figured out your little room service trick.

Izanami smirked, pleased with herself. ‘You know, only one other player actually bothered to explore his hotel room. He didn’t make it to the end though.’ 

In the dim lighting, Izanami’s face looked darker and older, like a shrouded statue. Her slyness had disappeared, and now there was something grave in her expression, as though she knew more about me than I did.  

‘賢かった,’ I said quietly. ‘パノプチコンを作成酒ました。だから、みんながプレシャーに晒されていた.’ It was clever. You created a panopticon to keep everyone under pressure. 

‘And did it work?’ 

I shook my head. ‘意志がすでに失われた.’ I’d already lost my motivation. 

Izanami pouted lightheartedly. ‘That’s too bad. I’ve played this game several times now since the second stage started. Usually the players were either willing to risk being caught if it meant they could trick everyone else into choosing a different answer, or they were so scared of being caught, they just picked any answer at random.’ She paused, nodding to herself. ‘But I’d heard about you before. The foreigner girl who almost figured out Mira’s Eight of Hearts game.’ 

Mira? 

There was no mistaking it. Of course, I knew that she was one of these “citizens”, but that was the extent of my knowledge. 

If Mira was behind the Laser Tag game all along… 

Had she known about the other games? About me meeting Chishiya two games earlier? For how long had she been watching us? 

‘You shouldn’t think too hard.’ Izanami’s blunt tone shattered my thoughts. ‘That’s why you lost your will to keep going. If you overthink too much about the what-ifs and why-nots, eventually you start to wonder if there’s any point in trying.’ 

I tried to find the right words, but they escaped me one by one. ‘I want to keep going,’ I muttered in English. ‘I want to make things right. But I just don’t know how to fix everything.’ 

Izanami chuckled and adjusted her crown. ‘I have no idea what you just said. But I do know you need to slow right down. You’re alive. Start with that.’ 

She took a step back. Her steely gaze was filled with resolve and acceptance. She took off her crown, dusted it with one sleeve, then placed it firmly back on her head. 

Her time was up. 

‘Life isn’t a race,’ she said. ‘It’s a labyrinth. If you’re not careful, you’ll end up going round and round in circles. But if you look hard enough, you might just find yourself.’ 

Her expression relaxed into a bittersweet smile. It was peculiar seeing such an expression on someone like her, as though she had released the burdens anchoring her to this cruel world. With a bright red flash, a laser shot through the ceiling. Her body crumpled to the ground before me, the plastic crown hitting the carpet with a thud and rolling away down the hall. 

I stood there, unable to keep from looking at her. That smile of relief was still etched on her face, frozen in time. 

[kissentz]

I did try to message in the chat thing but yours is set to accepting messages from Tumblrs you follow (side blogs don't count TuT they should though) and sorry for the wait, work was exhausting

head canons below, sorry if the formatting is difficult to read

-McLeach was born in America somewhere in the South. His family moved to Australia shortly before WW2.

-The McLeach family lived very rural. They had a barn where they stored firewood and their chickens for eggs and Percival played in that barn a lot, and used to hide up there when his father came home in a bad mood.

-McLeach has a little brother, Casey. They haven't spoken to each other in over ten years. They used to be close when they were younger. Percival's older by nine years.

-His dad served in WW2. While he was abusive to begin with, he got worse after he came back due to untreated PTSD. Mr. McLeach also entrusted his close friend to help look after his wife and kids when he was gone (as Mr. Wells was able to avoid serving due to physical issues) Mr. Wells wasn't a kind man to Percival or Casey, but pretended to be when their mother was around.

-McLeach named Joanna after his mother.

-McLeach only made it to third grade and had to drop out because of the war going on, and wasn't able to continue his education. When food got harder to come by, he started hunting. It took him a while to get better at it.

-When he was a teenager, a incident happened that caused his mother to be institutionalized and his father in the hospital, which led to Mr. Wells taking both boys in. Percival learned a lot of his cruelty from Wells. He did what he could to protect Casey from his wrath.

-His leg got broken while trying to run away and it never completely healed (hence why he walks a little oddly. He can still put pressure on it, but the bones aren't properly aligned.)

-McLeach had a difficult time finding and keeping employment with his lack of education. He knew basic math, could read and write at a third grade level, but the only jobs he could find didn't pay a living wage.

-He got into poaching around his early 20s, and started off with ilegally transporting animals for someone else.

-He taught himself how to drive and never got a formal license.

-McLeach had gotten married at some point and had a kid, but his job instability and drinking led to divorce two years in and he wasn't allowed to see his son anymore. He never laid a hand on his wife, but they did fight a lot and it got too much for her. He toned down his drinking after the divorce, but still can't quite kick it. That kid would be around Cody's age by now.

-When he goes for supply runs, he goes to a town that's as far away as possible where its unlikely that anyone's seen his wanted posters.

-He's a bit of a topic among the rangers. He's far from their most wanted criminal, but he's given them a very, very hard time with getting caught. He was only detained once and only then, long enough to get a picture for the wanted poster before he managed to escape. As far as they know, he's not a danger to other people (yet)

-McLeach is genuinely nice to some (keyword, some) of the people he meets when out hunting. Partially because he doesn't want to draw unnessecary attention to himself (hilarious logic given his truck) and partially because he does miss the human company. Most people also have the good sense to not call him out on being a poacher even if they know for certain he is (given he always has his gun on him, not something anyone wants to risk)

I have more headcanons but I think this is getting a bit long lol. I plan to incorporate some headcanons into Don't Hold Your Tongue, not all of them, but the ones I feel are relevant, like him going to a faraway town for supplies

thank u for telling me about dm’s!!! Σ(ﾟДﾟ；) totally forgot that i turned it on… now it’s not a problem~

thank you for telling me about it 💞💞💞 i REALLY adore most of your headcanons!!! many of them matches with mine as well (such as about abusive father, troubles with work and etc). i like how realistic all of them!!

also, what happened between casey and percy? why are they split apart, though they were so close? just curious~

[callsigngrim]

Fuck canon and other ramblings

Please note these are just theories done for enjoyment. Tw mentiones of blood. Character death.

(I had to rewrite this so many times so I kept it short and sweet because my brain did not want to work with me)

Ok so lets get into the gun Makarov possibly used to shoot Soap with

This is the X13 auto glock which is modeled after the the G17. This gun is listed on the official C.O.D wiki as one of the guns Makarov used. And it's also the closest one that resembles the gun used in the shooting scene. So not 100% guarantee that its the correct one. But it's as close as I could get. (moving on)

The gun uses 9mm ammunition. Dangerous yes but there have been reported cases of people surviving being shot with a 9mm.

OK so I did some digging on possible ways that Soap could have survived the gun shot wound to his head and one of the things I found was the Valkyrie program. Now the Valkyrie program was created to allow for on site (on the battlefield) blood transfusions, this comes in a kit that allows for collection of blood. And then that blood can be used for a blood transfusion to the injured soldier/person.

I have added the link if anyone is interested in reading about it in more detail please be warned that it does show explicit images containing blood and needles.

Now there are various other programs that allow for a soldier to receive blood quickly to avoid severe blood loss or even death. I touched on these very lightly but if you have any questions please feel free to ask!

Now the next one is very simple Price is a smart man and I really doubt he would have gone in blind. So the moment the dust settled the medics where there stabilizing Soap and getting him out of there to receive the right medical attention he needs.

The list of physical and mental problems is going to be a long one but he would have survived.

Now those are the more realistic theories. And I highly recommend you read @moronic-validity post linked here:

Now onto the more crazy theories. (Aka a fanfic I will be writing because I haven't done angst in a while)

In Kingsman they brought back one of the agents using alpha gel. "Alpha-Gel is a substance used by Statesman that can protect the brain from a headshot wound. After the Alpha-Gel is applied, the agent is brought back to the laboratory, where nanites are used to repair tissue damage in the brain."

What if they used something like alpha gel to help Johnny? But just like the alpha gel it causes severe amnesia. Soap forgets everything and everyone from 141. He spends months in recovery. Simon is there every day trying to get Johnny to remember the team (him) but nothing is working.

Or

After being declared KIA.The CIA got involved with a revival project and the first subject that showed promise was former Sergeant John Soap Mactavish.

Entry #1: Test subject 114 is responding well to chemical ****** no further deterioration has been detected. Subject has remained mute during first session. A green glow has been detected in the subject's eyes. Close observation will continue.

Entry#2: Subject seems stable and is taking orders. No indication that test subject 114 has any recollection of former team members. Subject only responds to previous call sign ****

Entry#14: Subject has been training for *hours a day. It has been noted that the subject has increased stamina. Upon further observation it has also been noted that the subject has episodes of extreme emotional outbursts. The dosage of chemical*** will be increased to ***milligrams every *hours. Observations to continue.

[northwest-cryptid]

Something I don't often speak up about is that I suffer from very severe paranoia. I genuinely hate it, my logical brain and my emotional brain are constantly at odds. The times I've been wronged it's easy to reinforce the bias as a sort of "see I told you!" It's hell to say the least.

I feel like a lot of the time in media paranoia is sort of treated as this "always watching your back" with your eyes darting from one person to the next constantly anxious of everyone. I know it very well can be that, but in my personal experience with it; it's not so noticeably pronounced like that. It's far more like a voice in the back of your head constantly asking you "are you sure about that?" It doesn't feel malicious, it feels like it's concerned for you.

To put things into perspective, I was raised in a cult; I can't say for certain whether or not everyone reading this has had first hand experience with a real cult. So to give you an idea of how hellish this was, consider that I was once taken to breakfast. A normal family outing; except it wasn't. It was a chance to train me on the ideology I must follow if I wish to survive. I was seated so I could watch the door, I was almost immediately asked "a man walks through the door with a gun, where do we leave through?" This was a trick question, there was no right answer; because I was to understand that I had failed if I let the man with a gun walk through the door before I had left the building.

The waitress came to the table and took our order, I was then asked how tall she was, what color were her shoes, did she tie her apron in the front or the back, what color was her hair; if she was to pull a gun which hand would she use? I was probably around 8 at the time. You likely believe this is hell for an 8 year old, but it's worse when you understand this wasn't the first time. This wouldn't be the last time either. We'd be out at the store, shopping for dinner; and I'd be asked what the random man who passed us was wearing. I'd be out on a walk and asked whether or not the man on the phone across the street was right or left handed.

I learned from an early age not to ask why this information would matter, it of course mattered; because everyone was out to get me. Every single person in the world was to be seen as a threat, as someone who wished me harm; as someone who wanted me dead. I was not allotted privacy at all, if I was conversing with people online it was suspected that I could be developing thoughts of my own as to how the world outside of the cult actually worked.

Now I've managed to distance myself, yet the ideology that was conditioned into me is still very much there. I befriend someone, they stab me in the back; and I tell myself "I should have anticipated this." Then I befriend another, but this time I keep my guard up; it makes it hard to stay friends with me for long and they leave me behind. It's hell to believe my only thought towards that is "they must not have been able to use me for what they wanted, so they moved onto another target." I don't believe these things, they're thoughts that come to me for a moment and then being pushed down by my logical thinking brain.

It's hard not to reinforce a belief that people wish me ill when I've existed so openly on the internet for so long. The internet does not allow for someone to make a mistake and learn from it. When someone screws up they're called out, posts are made about them; they are to be witch hunted until they have no standing within their social circle and must find another. This has happened to me several times. Sometimes I'm able to learn from it, sometimes I'm not; it depends greatly on the situation and whether or not I was actually in the wrong. There have been a great many times when I've been a victim of manipulation, deceit, and generally made to be "the bad guy." These sorts of things always make it a struggle to break free from the paranoia that grapples my mind and says "keep yourself safe, don't trust anyone; everyone wishes you harm!" I know that's not true, there's good people out there; I know there's good people out there.

However the truth is this only means I put trust in those I already know can be trusted. Those who have stuck by me, given me the chance to do better; actually wished well for me. It's hard for me to meet someone new and put any level of trust in them. Meeting new people triggers a sort of anxiety response where I must analyze every word, every action; down to the way they address me or else I fear I'll stumble and be burnt for it.

Trust me when I say I don't want to live like this, but being someone who primarily exists online, it's difficult to shake the feeling that a good many people don't actually want good for me. I literally got an anon earlier asking me about my streaming, and I cannot properly explain how it was worded so nicely that I flagged it immediately as someone wishing me harm. Wanting information so they knew where to direct their attack. I went through every word of that ask, punctuation, the decision to use anon; all of it. Desperately trying to figure out if this was someone who genuinely wanted to support me or someone who wishes me harm.

I hate myself for being like that, I'd feel awful if someone read through my messages like that; and obviously it has nothing to do with the person. I literally don't even know who it is, but the fact that they ask information of me is enough to set off alarms. I've been reading, writing, and rewriting a response to that ask several times. I've been trying to find the words to explain myself, then thinking it's better not to; I don't want them to feel as though I think poorly of them; I don't. I just fear for myself, I fear people want to hurt me, I get hate every day for poor word choice or "saying the wrong thing." It's hard to believe anyone would truly want to support me, which is insane because many people do!

I still need to figure out how I plan to answer that ask, on the one hand I want to be open and transparent and give them the information they're asking for. They've not done anything wrong, they've not asked me too much; I'm just on edge because it's coming in at the same time I'm getting a lot of hate. On the other hand I fear that if I do that and it turns out they DO wish me harm, well then it's just reinforcement that yea; I'm a fuck up and everyone's out to get me and I'll get burnt one too many times for trusting people.

Of course if I ignore it, the idea that "nothing bad happened because I didn't give them the information they wanted to hurt me with!" Would be so easily reinforced, so it's a bit of a catch 22 in this case. The insane thing is, the idea that this person genuinely means well and just wants this information because they genuinely DO want to support me feels so slim that it feels like I'm taking a massive risk in giving them information I already have openly available on my blog here. I always post when I'm going live, I link to my streams a lot. It just feels odd that they ask me about if I work for a company, that they don't know I'm poor and struggling to even make money to pay the rent thanks to my disabilities. It feels like they know just enough to understand I'm a Vtuber but not anything else, that reads as suspicious to me. This is how a paranoid brain works, this is why I hate being paranoid. This person hasn't done anything wrong, this person has sent me a very nice well worded ask simply wanting information. Yet here I am hours later racking my brain for how to respond in a way that isn't rude; that doesn't show my paranoia, that doesn't make them feel like it's their fault. Because it's not their fault!

Anyways, sorry for rambling. I haven't eaten much today and I'm sure that's not helping my decision making. I'll get around to answering that ask soon.

[hornet-best-bug]

Could you tell us more about your oc onto which you doodled horns? (Btw, full permission to infodump everything you want about them)

OH MY GOD NO-ONE REALLY ASKS ME TO INFODUMP OTHER THAN ONE PERSON ON HERE AND MY PARTNER. HOLD ON ESSAY INCOMING

Her name is Revive V Regor, and the idea was based off of Pavooko's Void angel idea. (Its warframe related. I fucking love warframe.) The idea was in simple terms "what if, in this AU of warframe, she broke her deal with the man in the wall, and he in retaliation removed her memories of everything and sent her onto the Zarimen derelict, while also leaving her vunerable to the lure of the angels song"

Most of that AU isn't cannon to her true character, and i only have the premise of that AU drafted as a short story you can find on my blog somewhere 😅 so i'll ramble about her cannon self in an alternate AU me and my partner work on together.

Revive was an experiment of Tyl Regor and Alad V ( the community calls Alad "Salad V" a lot, which i think is funny) in an attempt to see whether combining corpus genetics and grineer genetics would stop clone rot. (Clone rot is where grineer clone slowly deteriorate, it's a mutation in the genetics that causes their bodies to essentially "rot" killing them. Hence the name "Clone rot" it formed from years of cloning clones of clones, so on so forth)

Revive was only created successfully on the fith and final attempt, as Alad didn't really fully understand how the cloning process worked. Alad at the time was also recovering from his infestation (cannonially we, the tenno helped him, however for the sake of this au and the fact that we ship Alad and Tyl, Tyl is the one who helps Alad) so Revive does have some dormant infestated genetics, which was what was hoped to stop the clone rot.

Revive went through most of her childhood with her two crazy dads, though she didn't see Alad too much. Revive lived in the grineer Sea Labs a majority of the time, sometimes staying at Alads if Tyl needed her out of the way for a bit.

Revive as a kid was one of those "gifted kids" but she wasn't from the start ever using it for things people would deem "good" rather, she found an innate attraction towards weaponry, particularly explosives. Younger Revive having been so obsessed with grenades and bombs, was given a bomb plushie for her sixth birthday.

At 6, while she was logic smart, she still had a very creative side, often doodling plans for a gun she wanted to make, which ended up being the MK-1 of Firecracker. She liked to play games where she was the bad guy terrorising a city, when she met the man in the wall. He'd taken an interest in her potential for havoc, and so, after introducing himself and making her think he was some "imaginary friend" he made a deal with her. Now keeping in mind she'd around 6-8 at this time. Logic is escaping her because she thinks this is all part of the little roleplay.

The deal was of immorality to everything minus clone-rot as that's her achilies heel, although, wally (wally = the man in the wall) himself is another weakness as she ended up owing him her soul.

At 9 years old, with careful supervision and very limited resources to keep her safe, was allowed to make the MK-1 of Firecracker, her custom grenade launcher that packs quite a punch while sending out live grenades.

After that deal, she continued to play with him, and eventually, once she hit her teenage years, stopped seeing him, and frankly, isn't able to recall much of her childhood.

She, at around 13-16, started making a new, improved version of Firecracker, commandeering corpus weaponry that Alad gave her when she asked to study their reactors. She took apart a reactor she thought would work until she could do the maths for the correct formula for the custom reactor, and managed to make a semi-decent version of her gun. Though she wasn't fully satisfied, with the limited resources she was allowed, it was a decent start and a huge upgrade from the one she made at 9.

Through these years, Tyl and Alad would often have debates on where Revive should live. Should she remain in grineer territory, which at this point is all she knows, or should Alad take her to Corpus territory in hopes of giving her a life that Tyl knows he can't give.

They eventually came to an agreement of alternating where Revive stays. Two weeks at the labs and two weeks at Alads, rinse and repeat.

Revive has so many siblings, but the ones that have names are Kahl-175 (He is a cannon character you meet him in the new war and get to pkay as him in his own quest called Veilbreaker) Virmek and Gant. Gant is the youngest of the trio, and is very attatched to his technically little sister Revive. However, Gant is a manic, so he is tiny and childish, hence revive considers him a little brother instead.

At 14 Revive found herself developing clone rot, and started to conceal it from Tyl and Alad, though it eventually in her adult hood is discovered after tyl finds her bleeding through a very bad bandaging job.

She eventually gets a job in corupus territory, though she dislikes her boss, who is a total dick. She doesn't really get paid much despite her work demanding a higher wage. She doesn't work in finance. She works in weaponry as an explosives expert. Her salary is high, but corpus like to hoard their money, and i doubt they ever pay their employees fairly. (Just like the real world, am i right)

During this whole fiasco of working, she makes some friends with a group of Solaris. Jack, Tiffany, Scott. Revive has nicknames for the three

Jack = Jacky Wacky

Tiffany= Tiffy

Scott =Scottie

Revive ends up agreeing to help the Solaris with their issues, though dislikes working alongside the Tenno.

So not only is Revive working a full time job, she's being a babysitter for her brothers, helping out solaris United, dealing with the man in the wall who randomly pops back into existence one day, and is also dealing with a lot of insanity in her mind that she's constantly pushing back.

A note about her hair is that as a child it was completely light brown hair, however as she got older and did a ton of dangerous things she *should* have died from, white streaks would form in her hair. At the age of 23, her hair turned completely white, which was when Wally popped back into existence.

Most of this is completed lore, and thats about it at the moment because everything is still a work in progress 😅

[gravedigest]

Spins the Deimos dying in that Doing Something short fic and the relationships between him the others. Especially Hank who downright REFUSES to let Deimos die, unacceptable to them and practically in denial about it. Dei pilots Hank and I wonder if that caused some kind of semblance to attachment, from Hank for Deimos. People die, Hank kills them. What’s so different about Deimos dying compared to the rest? Too many resources? Because Doc or Sanford is attached? I feel like that’d be the coverup because there’s no reason to handle Dei’s rig so gently, it’s metal and wires it can handle some roughhousing. There’s no reason to take the rig at all if he’s replacement, another body. There is no reason to plug a cable into it after everything and once again declare that Deimos won’t die, cannot die. And just

They are fascinating to me. So so fascinating and I want to know what goes through Hank’s mind. I adore the harsh, coldness of Hank to Deimos while also tolerating him, their often intimidating interactions with him. It’s all so very interesting and I’m less than normal about them

(All good if you can’t tell bc if spoilers I’m just very very excited)

Pointing at you like a stage magician.

I thhhhink it’s not too spoilery, at least most of my thoughts here are just my own personal headcanons and vague reasoning along with things Krinkels has said.

Like, people have asked Krinkels why Hank actively protects Sanford in 11, to which he answered “Well, Sanford’s useful.”

Which is kind of my general basis for figuring out how much of an asshole to make him.

The more overtly useful something is, the further he goes out of his way to get it.

Or more fun. IE: Reaching for a chainsaw over a gun.

Like, in MPN, Hank humors Deimos. He can’t differentiate between Sanford and Deimos on the spot but he’s marked Deimos as The Funny One. He’s got a sense of humor and he’ll take on Deimos’ race to the top of the tower.

I don’t think I got to go too deep into it in Doing Something since it only takes place over a few days, but that hypothetical death scenario would probably be set further out, theoretically giving Hank time to categorize Deimos as Fun and Useful. He can take the brunt of the technical work off and it leaves Hank with the ability to just enjoy his side of the job, literally just dropping out the moment they have to do something he’s not interested in. The less Hank has to think about things he doesn’t want to think about, the better. And Deimos sure does a lot of thinking for a guy thats head is full of nonsense.

But Deimos is Fun and Useful.

Ergo, by Hank’s very normal and healthy logic, and because Doc has kind of made them each others problem by way of pairing them up in such a fucked up and entangled manner, Deimos is, objectively, his thing he wants to keep. That’s his Touy. No one’s allowed to 💥💥💥 his touy.

And when he does break it’s like a kid bringing their torn doll to their parents and being like “You have to fix it,” to Doc. There’s no room for not fixing it.

I have a set of targets all set up to mash them together further but that’s definitely spoilers and I’m loading Chekov’s shotgun and racking it for later.

[rametarin]

Pondering

I'm sitting here pondering franchises and stuff I liked as a very young Ram, and remembering how annoyed and patronized I felt at saturday morning cartoons being unable to show gun violence in what was clearly the context of war and struggle of peacekeepers vs. violent lawbreakers; be that on the street level of crime, or like with G.I. Joe, para-military vs. terrorist organizations.

I enjoyed those episodes that asked some hard questions to go with some saccharine display. And I don't even need to get two sentences into THIS paragraph without every 90s kid that follows me correctly interpreting it to mean, "Batman: The Animated Series." 'Cause 90s kids will remember.

The artful gymnastics around the censorship rules and laws and nanny organizations. The balance of political themes that wanted so desperately to give even the gentle echoes of philosophical questions. What is good? Is an organization good, or are we blindly following it in the hopes that it is the good direction? Are the bad guys truly doing what's wrong? The world-building gymnastics to avoid having to use bullets for finality and death as the logical option in a dangerous situation.

While I do agree that some things deserve light touches narratively, such as not showing the piles of glassy eyed bodies and disembodied heads in all their real gory detail after a callback to something like Waco, I absolutely believe that young people who enjoy pulp be it horror, sci-fantasy or straight up fantasy are YEARNING to be allowed dosages of harsh reality to go with the saccharine make believe. If only to better understand the world.

I used to love, as a kid, when cartoon shows would demonstrate things like vehicles, gadgets, even embellish how they work. Like, how submarines work. How radar works. Even if it's not really reliably hard science but just convenient for the plot!

So I sit here and ponder all the themes that I enjoy that would've made wee-me the happiest lad in the world to read about them in either comic book or cheesy limited-animation Saturday Morning Cartoon format, and how one would conceivably make a franchise and story with these subjects.

Something that gently introduced young people to war as a source of entertainment, but also didn't bury the terrible parts under a veneer of patriotic jingoism- while also allowing echoes of it, after prefacing it with, "too much unthinking loyalty to a cause is bad."

Episodes that were borderline classrooms that explained things like how planes work. How boats work. How trains work. Relevant to their adventures! Sometimes show, sometimes tell.

Topical and contemporary jokes, like Carbombya from G1 Transformers.

When this episode debuted I remembered the older kids that let me watch Transformers with them laughing their fucking asses off. I didn't get it when it aired, but after it was explained to me, I just giggled at the audacity. This was a thing, and hoo boy did it make Casey Kasem mad.

Anyhow..

So I think about the potential of all these stories to put into the context of a young-person friendly cartoon show or franchise, and the number of environments, gadgets and gizmos for plots kind of write themselves. A million little primers on things that exist in the world, that serve as almost icebreaking introductions to the concepts of things a young person may not've even known existed. Stuff that makes them aware such things exist, gives them something to ask their older peers about. Like the history of nuclear weapons.

Hell. As a creator, I could even choose, if I felt like it, to have a story entirely about a young person learning about some made up political issue, asking their peers about it, getting WILDLY different stories and interpretations of history and then growing irritated at the partisan people around them filtering the issue through their own bias. As a lesson in dealing and navigating through a bunch of judgemental shallow jerks and biased peers. The lesson ultimately being, "you can't make snap decisions without all the information, and trustworthy unbiased sources are hard to find.. Doubly so when you're young."

These are the things that I would've loved more of as a young person. Tech porn and war stories. Maybe when I make a definitive list of these things, I'll do something about them in writing.