#ruinedarcadewrites

[ruinedarcadefinallywrites]

Autopilot Google - Wrenches

Yippee! You chose the wrench, and descend into a hidden workshop!

Word count- 1K AO3

There’s been enough running, hasn’t there been Captain? Running into the airlock, running to the warp core, running from all those stories. A change of pace would be refreshing in this timeline. Alpha Blue has been studying the warp core, waiting for you to run down the hallway. Unfortunately, you’ve gotten predictable. 

Snatching up the wrench, you run towards it. As it turns towards you, a charge already thrumming in its chest, you strike down hard. Landing a blow towards its flickering eyes, watching with a series of unrelated emotions. Mainly discontent, as it tries to scrunch its face into a scowl. Metal doesn’t bend that well, but it certainly tried. 

Autopilot crashes onto the floor like Talos did into the sands of Crete. Your stolen uniform breaking apart, buttons spilling out onto the ground like an ichor. Pulses of blue beating weaker than dying animals heart. Nothing should move. You don’t move, but the hat on the Autopilot does. Struggling under the fabric as it pushes away from the hopefully deactivated droid. As it leaves, the hat doesn’t leave whatever was under it. A hermit crab-esque creature running around the floor, stilling as it hits the edge of the warp core.

“Dude? Google, my dude? Did you take over the ship yet? Dude?” Muffled by the fabric, the being under the hat is shuffling about, trying to lift the hat off of itself. Deciding to end this almost agonizing moment, you take the one step you need, and lift off the fake captains hat from the ground.

Crouched on the floor seems to be a miniature version of Autopilot. Its entire form is almost all bright orange. Glowing and flashing rapidly like the lights of a dying rave. A tiny pair of sunglasses cover its eyes, which snap to stare up at you.

“Oh &$@*! Captain!” As it takes in its surroundings, the tiny droid notices the fallen giant next to it. “Google! My dude..#@*$!” 

Instead of sprinting away, a panel falls from its back. Wheels popping out of it and the droid begins skateboarding away. Jumping over the gaps in the floor that nearly swallow up its foot entirely. Following it isn’t an easy a task as thought, as it seems to speed up. Closing the distance between itself and the elevator. 

Not wanting to be outdone by a walking USB drive, you’re sprinting after it. Boots slipping on the floor from the lack of contact, you force your hand through the elevator doors to shut them. The tiny droid latching onto the walls and beginning to climb. Pinching him between your fingers, you look over it curiously. 

At least you had the sense not to lean your face close to it, as it started biting and gnashing its teeth over your hands. Tiny metallic hands pulling at the crystal in your palm, a web of pain coursing through your hand. Shaking your hands to try and swat it into a wall, Bing jumps towards the main panel.

Slowly, it slips down, and smacks its gumball sized head onto one of the buttons. A quiet shudder comes from the rafters of the elevator, before your feet leave the ground for a solid second. Like the line above has been cut, or you’ve been sent out of the controlled gravity field. 

Instead of trying to run away from you, or use the moment of confusion to kill you, a tiny hand grips onto your coat. Pulling at it like a frustrated child trying to ask a question. Words are lost to your mouth, and fall to your knees as the elevator finally slows down. Opening with a crackle of electricity, greeting you to a show of horrors. 

Standing beside the elevator is a robot, smooth flat teeth hiding rows of drill like teeth in its mouth. Jaw hanging open, ready to snap shut like a venus flytrap. Part of the cyro uniform covers its form, horribly stained in grease and who-knows-what. Taking a step into the workshop, Bing drops down from your coat. Skating through the legs of robots and far away from you. Most of the robots aren’t built enough to even look human, masses of wires and endoskeletons are cracking apart. 

“A man goes to a party, this man met an old friend, the two friends shared some wine. The two friends played a game, the most dangerous game..I didn’t know..was it my fault?” One of them sparks to life, spewing out the garbled speech. Metal exterior painted to resemble a yellow dress shirt, and parts of its outfit and body laid out on the table. The entirety of its lower torso is missing, not even in sight. While the story sounds interesting, you have another one to interact with. 

Turning into a corridor, desperately ignoring the numerous broken droids scattering the halls, you can hear the faint noise of a computer booting up. Almost the sound of a bell tinkling, and something sliding apart. 

“Sorry dude, I could only find these crackers. Still trying to get into the storage systems.” A series of beeps follows, and as you turn your head to look in the room, you see it. A bigger version of Bing, but barely put together. Orange faintly glowing against metallic skin, screws sticking out from the sides of its eyes.

It’s head is hanging apart, faceplates on the verge of breaking off entirely. No hands are attached, and the one leg has wires hanging in place of a foot. At your intrusion, its head snaps towards you, refusing to break eye contact. Tiny Bing is trying to put a cracker into its mouth, but its jaw hangs precariously from the rest of its face. Once again, you see your two choices. 

Sure, you’ve never built a robot before, but how hard could it be? Most of it seems wired up, and putting its limbs on would be like building furniture. Thats easy enough. Then again…how do you know this one won’t attack you? 

Make your choice, Captain. 

#iswm #iswm fic #iswm fanfiction #autopilot google #googleplier #bingiplier #bing irl #Google irl #WAIA #ruinedarcadewrites

[ruinedarcadefinallywrites]

Exit: [Pursued by an Actor]

Perhaps there isn’t just one Engineer..(might write a sequel who knows)

Not again. That suffocating room that was barely bigger than bridge. Hadn’t he already fixed it? He was sure, when he laid down beside the warp core, hunger and exhaustion finally taking him again, that it was working. 

Was..was the captain there? No, it never works like this.They have to witness it, because they make it break. The wrench..sand..all of it. 

At the start of the warp core loop, he’d been slow to move. Waiting for the Captain and idling mainly. They’d show up soon, they always did. With that beautiful and or handsome face hidden by the helmet that reminds him of black holes he used to study. Back at the academy when he started work on being an engineer. Like the one he saw in the last loop. Or was it the first loop? 

It could’ve been years that he’s been at this. His attempts of keeping track of time (assuming he dies after three days due to dehydration) never works. The room resets, the warp core unchanging. 

Starting back at trouble shooting the cores processors, something begins to hum to life. Finally..he drops down to his knees like he’s seen salvation. He did it. Does this mean it’s broken? He can leave the core, and tell the Captain that he’s done it. They’ll be so proud, and they can finally start- 

As quickly as it started up, it’s died back down. Downgraded into an even worse state, with the glow of the core almost dead. 

“Now now..I think you’re getting ahead of yourself aren’t you? But..this is my story. You forget your place, Mark.” Marc’s voice bounces around the corners of the room, despite his form a step behind Mark. Cane tapping beside Marks feet, before beginning to crush the back of his calf with the end. Keeping him on the floor as he prepares his performance. 

“Good, you’re quiet. I do hate when I have to shut up by audience. Or more so..fellow actors. You were a great..not villain, not hero. Catalyst. That’s it. A perfect catalyst,”Mark winces, pressing his hands against the curves around to core to keep himself upright. 

Without care, he continues on. “But, I’m the star of the story, and I think it’s time I take over. Now, I know what I need to portray. Agony, mixed in with self hatred. And eventually, the hate of the Captain. It was their fault after all. Wasn’t it Mark?” 

Prodding him in the back, Marc pushes him down onto his face. Just underneath the glow of his torturous invention. Ignoring the quiet groans and pleads from the engineer, Marc pushes the heel of his shoe onto his spine. Revelling in the light pop it brings to the room. 

“I suppose it’s time to get out my curlers. Showtime baby.”

#ruinedarcadewrites #iswm #iswm fic #iswm fanfiction #engineer mark #head engineer mark #iswm mark #actor mark #iswm actor

[ruinedarcadefinallywrites]

On The Line

(Remember when we all thought that there’s be a Markiplier project involving trains? Well here’s trains)

——————————————————————

Apparently, to their anger and discontent, Mark had offered a third option to his partner. Trying to one up Darks offer of four choices last time, no doubt. Buttering up them, another pawn in a game of 4D chess that they’ve played for centuries with one an other. 

What was it that they’d found while lurking in the mirror of that hideous dressing room? Right, a planner for the next adventure. Space apparently. More complex and harder to break into than this one…A task for another time. Preferably somewhere less public to.

Bringing themselves back to the task at hand, Dark peers away from their book to check the hallway between the carriages of the train. 

No sign. Yet.

Why there’d even been a train station so close to the museum was a conundrum on its own. But the fact that they had chosen it over a helicopter or a car was baffling. Subsequently easier to break into at least. Perhaps they will have two appearances once again. 

Replacing their book from another lifetime (Gentlemen of the Jury had been a classic ever since it’s publishing) with his cane, Dark decides on walk throughout the train.

Far of crashes and curses in a disgustingly memorable voice tell them they’re moving in quite the right direction after all. 

#ruinedarcadewrites #actor mark #darkiplier #ahwm #markiplier egos #ahwm mark #ahwm dark #da mention #codi don’t look

[ruinedarcadefinallywrites]

Disability headcanons for the boys. (Written by your local chronic pain and autistic friend)

Jackie- Autistic king. Wonder why he never leaves his superhero outfit? It’s his favourite texture and he’s only just starting to teach himself how to find other textures he likes. Fun fact, during stress, muscles tighten and make scars ache. Really applies one’s right on movable joints but I wanna give him some

Marvin- From my personal headcanon that he’s a shapeshifter, joint pain, early onset arthritis (like his grandma). Transitioned from using conduits like wands to scrying orbs for less motion. Uses heat magic to ease his joint on bad days. (Everyone with pain definitely comes to him for a taste of that heat magic)

JJ- At his first appearance, we know he’s mute and uses BSL. After being kidnapped by Anti, he’s tortured with all the noises he can’t make, and has mild hearing loss. Can only not hear sounds people fifty and up can’t. (General higher noises). Hasn’t heard a car meow and hears a misses it

Henrik- Morton’s foot. Causes the foot to turn out when walking and eventually cause muscle pain up that side of the body. Cane user on bad days and if pushed to the extreme, wheelchair. Wouldn’t be this bad if he didn’t work in a hospital where he has to be on his feet all the time

Chase- Severe migraines from drinking so much and editing late at night. That triggered general migraines that leave him angry at all senses. Likes to hide himself in his recording closet because it’s dark

#chase bro average #chase brody #jse ego headcanons #jse egos #jacksepticeye egos #jackieboy man #jbm #jackieboyman #jse chase #jse jackieboy man #jse marvin #marvin the magnificent #jameson jackson #jse jameson jackson #jj jse #henrik von schneeplestein #jse henrik #ruinedarcadewrites

[ruinedarcadefinallywrites]

Autopilot Google

As you wake up in your usual loop, you find yourself with a new companion. Mark programmed an AI in case you or him went missing. It’s finally kicked in (three endings)

WORD COUNT: 2.4K

Once again please thank @puppeteered-poetry He drew autopilot Google that inspired this

AO3

BAD ENDING ONE: RUN

“Now let’s try that again. Shall we?” Echoes the same voice, the ringing tone reminiscent of a gunshot reverberating around a room. Wakey-Wakey Protocol already counting down as you open your eyes. What number loop must you be on now, six, twenty, a hundred? 

There’s no certainty in any of it, never has been. Marks previous idea of scratching a mark into the cyro pod (as it had been the only consistent thing within the cycle) was fruitless, leaving you both to attempt and tally them and fail miserably. Mark said that you must have been on loop eight, when you knew it had been at least triple that.

Like always, you’re pushed out first from the pods. Pushed out with more force than usual, you’re sent out of the pod. Bracing yourself on the console, regretting the fact you’ve put both hands out. Crystal cutting into the meat of your hand. 

Almost as bad as the time when Mark..in the core.

Speaking of the devil himself, the head engineer is ejected from his own cyro pod. Slamming and body painfully cracking into the glass. Glass already trembling, ready to shatter. Barely ten seconds after he stands up, the cycle always continues. At this point, your heartstrings aren’t pulled out into space as hard before. 

“Error: Fail safe systems offline.” Now, you’re leaving the lake to move into the first stream. It’s easier each time, and the better choice is to have Mark by your side. Turning to find the fire extinguisher, hesitating as you remember what happens. 

Oxygen slowly depleting, starving your cells of that vital gas. Stumbling into life support, but it doesn’t work. No matter how fast you are, how quickly you put out the fire. The combustion steals just a little too much, and you pass out at the door. 

Surely it will be worth it. Better to have someone to work with who remembers the cycles. Reaching to pull the ring, a loud whirring of mechanical plates pulling apart comes from just behind you. Dropping the cylinder, something wonderful final starts you off.

“All systems online.” Finally..it’s finally over. Marks system worked..and he was gone. All of his work, even when the programming had failed every loop. But you didn’t grab him. Let him fall through the window instead of holding his hand. 

“Scanning for system errors. Going through data logs. Accessing personal files.” Eyes, or something similar to that are boring holes into your skull. Something so crude in its advanced glory. Almost like you’re back in cyrogenics, it takes an age for you to turn around to the voice.

Where the door once was, something has lowered in front. Worryingly sealing you in the bridge. Mechanical boots are still strapped into lowering platform, faintly glowing in the steadying lights of the bridge. It’s dressed in..in your uniform? Almost everything matches yours. Right down to the shoulder pads and buttons. It’s your uniform, reused entirely. Dyed to fit the glowing turquoise lights coming from the panels across its face.

“Captain. I have restarted all systems. Everything is online, and I’m searching for the root anomaly.” Each syllable is coated in static, the voice barely past a digital whine. Unclipped from its station, the robot is pacing around the bridge. Staring intently at the now sealed hull doors.

“Captain? Where is Head Engineer Mark E Plier? Calculating…he has been flung into the deep voids of space. Wakey Wakey Protocol is being turned down to prevent further incidents.” Stunned silent, you can only watch as it begins to tap the console. Changing the colours into its own, pulsing quietly. 

“What are you? Are you..what are you?” It makes the closest to an emotion you’ve seen a droid make yet, a scowl crossing it’s face. Letting it’s hands leave the console and face directly at you. 

“The correct statement is ‘who are you?’. I am a being, not some silly code input. I am Autopilot, IV-II-A. Programmed in emergencies and maintenance of the ship. Captain. I believe I understand the issue. Paradoxical anomaly detected. You have been here before. Prepare for elimination.” Another device begins to hum to life, a light glow spreading throughout its body. 

Whether it’s luck or it’s own cruelty, the first shot misses you by inches. A hot white charge melting your cyropod, and as it huffs to reload, you do the best you can. You run.

If there’s any chance the loop hasn’t broken, you’ll be thanking Mark for keeping all the key areas close enough to the bridge. Knocking his lights out immediately afterwards too, for creating what seems to be a replacement for you. The nerve… 

Ducking into ADS, you remember how horribly you’d done in weapons training. All a gun really is a trigger and a muzzle, so it can’t be that hard. In the normal loop, the ADS systems don’t go down until after life support. Since none of them have gone down, the drones sit. Waiting to be called upon for inner ship defenses. Or Gunther’s terrible idea of a birthday surprise.

Going through the cabinets, you pull out the closest thing to an earthly gun you can find. Much easier to use than the others. They have about thirty dials to calibrate the attacks, and you’re pretty sure no one on the ship actually knows how to use them. Looking it over, you stand up. Ready to fire at the door at the Autopilot when you hear electricity coursing though something. 

Instead of two, like always, it’s a swarm. At least thirty of the basketball sized drones are starting to circle ADS. Thanks to their numbers, it’s not difficult to miss the first few. Blasting them, they crumble into a coppery powder, and while the rest start to fire, you do what you always do. Run. 

Sealing the door behind you, Autopilot is emerging from the bridge. Looking much more alive, motions much more fluid than when it had emerged. “Anomaly spotted. Continuing elimination process. Airlock opening. Increasing personal gravity field.” 

Ah, the airlock. A peaceful escape to restart a loop. Floating around in space for a few minutes, getting to enjoy the beauty of it. Traveling to the stars seemed pointless if you didn’t get to walk among them. At its heart, everything is made of the matter of stars, so it’s just like walking amongst your friends. Among us. All your friends. A lot less fun without a helmet, as the seal breaks between the ship and the outside. Pulling painfully at you, forcing the gun out of your hands. 

Grasping desperately at the walls, you try to pull yourself along into another room. More clanking comes from behind you, Autopilot doing something behind you. Not too interested in it’s newest ideas, you pulls yourself into the closest room possible. Sealing the doors as you jump through.

Taking a breath, you look around to find yourself in cyrogenics. There’s not much you know about AI, but you know well enough that if you hit it hard enough, you might be ok. Looking over, you can see the rows of colonists, deep in cyro-sleep. If Autopilot just wants to get rid of you, the rest of the ship should be safe. Deciding on a bottle of liquid nitrogen, you hold it akin to a baseball bat. Ready to strike when Autopilot gets-

“Beta Red Active. Downloading primary objective from Alpha Blue.” Another platform has dropped down in front of the door, less decorated as the first AI, but almost identical. Arms at the ready, you stand with your back to the colonists. Like you could save them. But you never do Captain.

As it calibrates itself, you realize there’s no time like the present. Taking a running leap forward to start smashing the tank into the droid. “Primary objective is to eliminate the Captain. To ensure the ships safety.” You’ve managed to get one blow in before it takes over. Taking the can and cracking it in half like a pretzel stick. It spills out like a broken dam, and both of you recoil. 

In the few seconds it’s on your skin, it freezes the flesh. Feeling more like you’ve stuck your hand in a reactor, eyes wide as you watch as your skin goes black as the sky. Skin peeling away to reveal raw, bleeding flesh. Like a piece of meat being dropped away. Beta is doing much better, but hitting its arm in frustration as the nitrogen cools and freezes in its joints. You’d consider it even if it wasn’t able to nearly kill you.

“Charge loading. Please stand by.” Very interested in not standing by at all, you begin punching in the codes for the door. Surely a shortcut through the colonists couldn’t cause too much trouble. As the last whir finalizing the charge echoes, you roll through the door instead.

Missing you, it hits the outside of one of the pods. Almost in horror, if this droids face had the same amount of expression as Alpha Blue. Dropping to its knees as something fizzles inside it. “Protocol failed. Shutting down for workshop transportation.” Clanking, its head hits the ground, a few panels coming loose.

Safer in the colonists cyropods, you begin searching for the crew. Only you and Mark had pods outside the station, in the event of emergencies. As you walk through the rows, you can’t help yourself as you turn around. Checking every few seconds to make sure the bot hasn’t risen up again. 

A crunching step through the rows causes you to bolt, barely glancing at the names on the rows. You need to get to the crews sections, on the side farthest to the right. Armed with only a new piece of knowledge, you dart between the pods. Damaging the ship or the colonists seem to shut them down, so you have to keep moving as close to them as you can. 

One set of steps turns into two, bustling around as you see the cyropods. Gunther is the first one you see, and as you grasp at the doors to get him out. At least he could try and take Autopilot out by force. The door cracking echoes with a boom around cyro. Bumbling steps trying to find their way quickly grow into sprints to your location. 

Trying to defrost Gunther has proved fruitless, as the system locks up. Autopilots eyes glaring through the screens before blinking away.

“Primary objective is to -TARGET LOCATED.” The two droids chant in unison, both beginning to close in on you. These two have barely any decoration on them, like they’ve only just been built. Only dressed in the uniforms berets, yellow and green respectively. Both are moving at high speeds towards you. Closing in on both ends of the hall. 

Metal clanking against metal, the pair sprint through the hallway. With visual confirmation on you, Yellow and Green slow down. Masses of metal pulling apart from their bodies, changing their forms from humanoid to hulking beasts. Buzz saws the size of a tires sprout from their chests, smaller blades beginning to line their arms. As they finish their mutation, their speed doubles.

Panting and scrambling, you try to squeeze yourself between the cyropods. Gaps that almost crush you in half, but you eventually slip into the next hall. Green was already behind you, but as it’s saw catches the side of Gunther’s pod, it too collapses. Ready to be reprogrammed by the next engineer that passes by.

Lungs burning, you have to keep pushing. Throwing a few pieces of your uniform, medals and your hat, you pray it will distract the last droid for a few seconds. Circling back towards the main doors of cyro, you begin desperately keying in the code to lock it again. 

“Auto Googles Delta Green and Beta Red are down. ADS drones to their current locations for reprogramming.” Autopilots voice over the speakers is much more smooth from when it had started. A quiet hint of robotic, but mostly hidden by a now very human voice. 

With the door shut behind you, Gamma Yellow is beginning to break it down. Wasting no more time, you begin moving through the reactor. With nowhere to hide, and the chances of the star being damaged, you head to where you always do.

The warp core.

As soon as you leave reactor, the noise of a mechanical growl and crunching metal is right behind you. Running through the hall, you pull off one of the explosives along the hall. Ready to separate the core from the ship, but one should be enough to take care of this one. 

Desperately pressing the button in the center, you wait until you see the beast, all saw and barely and limbs lumbering to the hall. It’s always delayed, you remember too well. Throwing it behind you, you keep running towards the warp core. Reaching it should be enough, safe enough at least.

Shrapnel from the bot careens forward, splinters of metal catching on your arms. Tearing against your skin and putting holes in your jacket. Pushing through, you almost collapse as you reach the inside of the warp core. Sealing the doors behind you, finally letting yourself collapse. 

Glowing as brilliantly as ever is the warp core, a pale blue light that fills the room. Sometimes, when you make it here, you realize why he loved it so much. Mark adored how he crafted it, the heart of his ship. His creation, rebuilt from destruction. These routes were always lonely, without Mark following you around like he always did. What makes it worse is the difference in how it started. Breaking the cycle. Could it really be a new timeline, if your engineer wasn’t with you?

“TARGET LOCATED. Captain, you have been identified as the anomaly. A child of the multiverse trapping the ship in an infinite loop. Insufficient leadership skills have been detected, alongside a disregard for the good of the ship. Please prepare for your elimination and subsequent replacement.”

Stepping out from behind the warp core, the Autopilot stretches out like a human would when it’s stiff. Eyes charged up a brilliantly blinding blue, staring down its target. You. 

As always, you see two options. On one of the work tables beside you is a wrench, and behind you is the hallway. You could run back, and try and wake the crew again with the other Googles disarmed. But, that could be endangering everyone. That wrench looks heavy, but if you throw it hard enough, it could do some damage.

Make your choice, Captain.

#iswm au #autopilot google #ruinedarcadewrites #iswm fic #iswm fanfiction #iswm #googleplier

[ruinedarcadefinallywrites]

Why Did You Bother To Stay?

Got talking on Discord about the possibility of a Damien counterpart in ISWM. Please ask questions about the boy he’s my little scrunkle. Thanks to @puppeteered-poetry for giving me the plot and brain worms.

A little fic on Celcis time in university, but will Fahren be there for the graduation?

WORD COUNT: 1.3K My longest fic yet (not a good start but oh well)

WARNINGS: A couple of swears, slightest alcohol mention

Eight years. Eight years on Earth. And it’s going to be their last. When Celci had first applied so eagerly to the academy, she, as everyone else applying at the schools first year of operation were told how much longer space travel would take. A beautiful dream that would be reached outside of their lifetimes, and how if they dedicated themselves to testing their fields, their children would see the stars.

How wrong they were. 

Barely halfway through that same year, the first ship had been launched. Reaching out to the edge of the galaxy before summer. The issue of the speed of travel (which has managed to cause significant damage to over half of the original crew) was remedied with cryogenics. By keeping the human body in frozen animation, the remaining crew made into Draco II in the second year

Just in time for a quick switch of her major, originally reactor management, to cryogenics. One of her classmates had been devastated by her departure, so much so that during lunch, he’d quietly set down a stack of twenty something poems for her. Tales of sorrow and what Celcis so sure were actual tears drops on the paper. (Burt later had to come up to her and apologize, explaining that she’d just been kind to him and would miss her. Apologizing for the immense amount but he’s just been struck with inspiration. Celci still has a few of the best ones scanned and saved to her phone.)

Third year, exploration ships with minimal crew were sent out. At least one every few months, and she was star struck when she was invited to study the effects of cryogenics on returning crew. People who’d engrained themselves as space age legends just by being aboard the ship, at least in Celcis eyes. Faren had teased her that she had a crush on the captain of the ship, and had perhaps asked for a few too many reexaminations.

Quickly devolving into a match of who can throw each other into the wall first broken up by a very eager air defense major. Gunther had been disappointed that no, no they weren’t actually going to fight properly and no, he could not join in. 

For the next four years, Celci completed a bachelors in cryogenics and decided to get a masters instead. “How on earth am I going to actually apply it properly if I don’t understand it?” A very familiar argument she’d had with most people, most of all Faren. It had seemed almost disappointing that he’d decided to drop out of his engineering courses, pursuing ethics and philosophy instead. 

“Faren please, why would you stay here? All of philosophy will change when the explorations prove we’re not alone. How can you just leave? We were going to do this together!” Unsure whether or not it’s rage or upset, Celci had decided on both. Watching him move around the room like she wasn’t there, repacking his dorm to move out of the academy completely. 

“And what would I do? There’s nothing interesting in engineering anymore. Learned how to create enough engines, and they barely have a difference! I want something that’s going to change rapidly, something that requires understanding!” During the half argument-half brooding fistfight, Farens hair had fallen out of its usual greased back position. Choosing to spike up like a wild animal ready to attack. Much more fitting to his current conflicted state. 

“I’m going. Maybe my work will have a purpose in your future, but yours certainly won’t in mine!” Temper getting the better of him, he’s pushing her out of the door. Locking it behind himself as he packs in a huff. Something breaks in the boxes, but there’s not enough care in him right now.

Four months later, and it’s meant to be graduation. Meant, because it doesn’t feel like she’s earned anything. Since he left, there’s been not a single message from Feran. Even when she tried calling from Marks phone, he picked up for only a few seconds. 

“Will you ever stop worrying? You’re going to be fine. Not everyone you know has to attend graduation. It doesn’t matter, you’ll want him there for something more important. Whatever you do after this is going to matter more than this.” Stopping her attempt at trying to keep that stupid cap on, she turns to stare daggers at Mark. Whatever he has been trying to adjust on his sleeves is dropped onto the floor, rolling underneath a table.

“Mark, I haven’t heard from him in months. He barely even talks to you anymore. It’s..we were meant to graduate together. Cyro and engineering get to work side by side, and he really loved it. At least I thought..”

Now, she can’t help but feel another pang of worry. She didn’t mean to push him away so far, down into what must be an abyss. Did he feel any regret about cutting off communication? Sure, he had flashes of rage, and a little too hot headed for his own good. In the end he always meant to be kind. Better than her most of the time, when she made decisions that were more cold that a can of liquid nitrogen.

Eventually something has to snap her out of the spiral, and it just happens to be a hard pat on her back. Enough to nearly double her over, and almost ready to smash someone in the face before she sees the apologetic face. Poor Burt always forgets his strength, used to smashing in bolts when the thread wears out. “Apologies. I just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t be late. Wrote a poem for you as well. Perhaps somewhere in the universe we’ll cross paths again.”

Placed carefully on the table, it looks like a steamed over matchbook. A tiny scribble on the top signifying it’s another part of Burt’s poetry collection. “We are all children of the universe, so what honour would it be to embrace it so kindly?” Some hesitation hides in his words, like it burns up the back of his throat. Knowing that his lines will be back to haunt him eventually. Poetry is just part of reality, past or future. 

With a barely there smile, she nods. Mark patting her shoulders gently as he begins to walk past her. “We’ll be waiting for you. Come on, life is short after all. We could all be dead by tomorrow. ‘Specially if I’m beating..beating your..uh..brothers record..” Sheepishly, Mark goes back to adjusting the cuff links that aren’t there anymore. Sat and probably watching him spitefully from underneath the table. Leaving without another word to save himself, Celci is left alone. 

Most of the dorm is bare, prepped to move out first thing in the morning. Besides the essentials, she’s let herself hold onto one more thing. A singular picture of Fahren and her, from last year. Just before he was going to create the keg stand record Mark wanted to break, she’d managed to get him to look at the camera for a few seconds. Glitter shot out from the same air defense major who’d broken up their fight has covered them, giving Celci icy blue hair and Fahren burnt orange. 

Admiring the photo, she doesn’t notice the footsteps behind her. Only registering the presence when another hand is on her shoulder. Much smaller than Burt’s, and unrecognizable for a few seconds. Dreadful seconds where she turns around and socks them in the face. A very punchable face to Celci, and she only partially regrets it

Stretching out his now aching jaw, Fahrens dropped half the roses he brought for her. Strewn on the floor and crushed under their collective feet in the quickest fistfight they’ve had. “For fuck sake! Gods..all I did was touch your shoulder what th-“

Words are quickly smothered as he’s pulled into what’s more like a vice than a hug. At one point he’s sure his ribs are cracking from the pressure. “You little bastard. Four months and nothing? Screw you.” 

“There’s time to kill me later, I assure you. You’re going to be late”

#iswm #iswm fic #iswm celci #celci iswm #fahren kelvina #celci kelvina #engineer mark #head engineer mark #gunther iswm #Burt iswm #ruinedarcadewrites

[ruinedarcadefinallywrites]

Autopilot Google-

Bad Ending One: Run

Summary: You chose to run when faced down by Autopilot in Chapter One. Warning for major character death of viewer

WORD COUNT: 184

Run. That’s always a good option. So far, you’ve managed to save yourself through running, so what’s one more? Ignoring the wrench at your disposal, you turn around back to the hall.

There’s no following from Alpha Blue, who’s analyzing the rest of the warp core patiently. All the colours of the lights have begun flickering a deep ocean blue. The tunnels colour is taken away, as you continue to bolt through. 

Through the darkness, the twitching form of Gamma begins to claw at you. One hand catches your foot, leaving you stuck in the warped mechanics like a patch of quicksand. As you’re twisted into the mass, quiet steps creeping up behind you. 

“Captain. If you were a true leader, you would’ve seen that you were unfit. Stepped down immediately, and I wouldn’t have so much fuss. My poor Googles..the repair they’ll need. Goodbye Captain.” 

You’re granted mercy, not having to face Alpha Blue as you hear the charge rev up. There’s barely a second of pain before you’re hurtling into the wormhole again. 

Perhaps you should make a different choice.

#ruinedarcadewrites #iswm #iswm au #iswm fic #iswm fanfiction #autopilot google #googleplier #codi don’t look

[ruinedarcadefinallywrites]

Making

Chapter 1

700 words

Tw- Verbally abusive Derek, blood mention, mention of animal death, start of murder

Part of Eric wishes he’d had the guts to stand up six years ago. When he at least had some sympathy, lying in a hospital bed after the second accident. Derek just looked so distraught, panicked even, watching from his chair a few feet away. All he wanted to do was make him happy. Bring his dad back to the way he was, smiling as Eric tried his best. At least then his critiques weren’t said out loud 

He just didn’t realize how much he’d hate doing it. Now, he’s under the burning out studio lights, horribly sweaty in another sweater. Bright yellow with rosy mustaches stuck everywhere possible. 

“And! And uh, you too ca-can stay nice and to-toasty this summer! I-I..you ca-can stay toasty this wi-winter!” Somewhere to his right, there’s a burrowing stare from eyes that match his own, making the sweat darken the collar of the sweater. Refusing to make eye contact, he pauses before returning to the script. 

“You-you can ever uh, but one for your uh, your dogs! Then th-they can stay to-toasty this sum-summer! Like hotdogs! Or uh..like do-dogs in a car! But the-they’re fine! Win-windows open..and uh..they can es-escape!” Eric’s dog escaped the bus, just like he had. Rosie was out of the window, before quickly turning into a kebab as the metal plating on the side of the bus crumbled off in the heat of the fire. Like Damocles sword finally snapping from its thread. 

Finally, someone snaps him out of his daze by hooking a finger under his collar and tugging sharply. Its sudden motion makes him choke, stepping back to be forced into the gaze of Derek. 

“That’s a wrap everyone! See you tomorrow.” Words that seem to chant Eric’s doom as the studio quickly empties. By now they understand what happens after filming, and would rather distance themselves from the explosion than trying to diffuse the bomb.

“What the hell was that! Can’t you fucking read? The script was barely two pages and you’re out there monologuing!” Deciding that yelling on the studio floor was inappropriate, Derek has kindly moved his rant into a supply room. A few boxes of unsold and out of season sweaters sit in the corner, and repair kits for the cameras. 

Eric tries his best to be brave during these fights, standing up straight at the start of them and making the closest thing to eye contact he can stomach. Today, he’s lasted the longest, five minutes in and he hasn’t crumbled yet. Taking the stream of agony from Derek and trying to not say anything. Distracting himself by trying to count how many screwdrivers are in the toolbox closest to him. 

When his jaw is grabbed and he’s rudely forced into reality, his eyes refocus. A first from Derek, who usually never dares to touch him outside of a grab to the shirt. “Are you not fucking listening again? Your fucking mother..coddling you and saying you could follow your fucking dreams! And she leaves me, your brothers all leave me, with the son I don’t want! It always should’ve been you!” 

Something new fills his body. No longer flight or freeze. Fight. He hardly thinks when he lands the first blow to Derek’s chest. Not on the second, third, or fourth. Not even when Eric pushes him to the floor, pinning him down under the weight of his foot. 

Consciousness floods back into his mind when he feels Derek trying to knock his leg off. Plastic shifting and metal catching on his thighs. “Eric..Eric please..” wheezed Derek, gripping at the metal blade against his chest. Doing his best to try and lift it off of himself. 

Twenty-five screwdrivers. Eric only just counted them a minute ago, but he’s reminding himself as he pulls the toolbox off the shelf. Dropping it onto Derek’s hand and listening carefully to the two new sounds of the room. Bones being crushed and Derek’s broken sobs. Sickeningly, it’s delightful. Urging Eric to push more of those noises out of him. 

Maybe he wasn’t exactly steady in his hand, but it feels so easy when he twists the screwdriver in hand. One, two, three times, before it’s being jammed into Derek’s chest. He’d been too weak as he held it, and it has to be dug into get the result he wants. Unsatisfied, he tries again. Derek’s cries dissolve away, and so does Eric’s vision. Blacking out completely as he reaches for the next screwdriver. 

#ruinedarcadewrites #eric derekson #derek derekson #markiplier egos

[ruinedarcadefinallywrites]

Anyone..wanna send Drabble requests? 👉👈

#Pretty please? #ruinedarcadewrites