#screech is bad at resident evil

[screechthemighty]

so ethan winters girlies how we feeling

#i'm in agony thanks for asking!!!!! #screech is bad at resident evil #ethan winters #shadows of rose spoilers #spoilers #resident evil spoilers

[delicatebluebirdruins]

Ethan's Diary

February 6th, 2021 Mia and I had another fight. I accidentally mentioned what happened there three years ago and she blew up at me. We finally settled down in our new life in Europe and can bring Rose up properly. But... I still feel like a part of me is trapped in that hell hole back in Louisiana.

I know Mia doesn't like to talk about it, but can we really just forget everything and pretend it didn't happen? Shouldn't we face what happened there so we can live our lives with Rose without it hanging over our heads? We owe her that much at least... I know Mia knows this too. She wouldn't have exploded like that at the hospital if she didn't care.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

emphasis mine: Mia feels a tremendous level of guilt for a) joining the connections b) starting with Evie at what ever point she did c) letting Evie get away whilst getting Alan away from when the incident took place d) trying to keep Ethan away but failing i have already said why the message wouldn't have fucking gone through and that is because storm and evie made her lose a door idk what to tell you e) Ethan gets hurt by her first of all under the influence of Evie

Mia in the bakers incident report (obligitory it should have been part of basic game and it should have had a moment of BSAA confirming they got all information about the connections she could give them) says she wants "to forget everything"

its normal to shy away from something painful, she spent 3 years in padded cell thinking of everything (when not in Evie La La Land). there is also a element of how her mold infection affected her after being treated by the BSAA. I got asked by @mushroomwithsomeink some time ago if Mia has abanonment issues and to an extent she does (the answer was not very good). Mia was part of a hive mind for years she knew where Jack was and was probably aware of everything else happening around her (all because of her not being able to convince Evie to stop or have the guts to break out the murder kit). The thought that the BSAA apparently let them live but without setting them up with therapists? (though the BSAA are the same people who let Chris still recovering from amnesia and binge drinking into the field- also plugging the fanfic catch me floating circles in fish bowl)

random thing as I was tying "forget everything" I had a thought about Riley Flynn from Midnight Mass (and ended up looking for quotes from the show and interesting ones will be under the read more- give them a look and see why i thought of Mia when i reread these)

Both Mia and Ethan have CPTSD I have no real thoughts what i shared is honestly explanation enough

from the NHS website

Complex PTSD - Post-traumatic stress disorder

You may have complex post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) if you have some of the symptoms of PTSD, and also have problems with managing your emotions and having relationships.

Symptoms of complex PTSD

The symptoms of complex PTSD are similar to symptoms of PTSD, but may also include:

feelings of worthlessness, shame and guilt

problems controlling your emotions

finding it hard to feel connected with other people

relationship problems, like having trouble keeping friends and partners

Causes of complex PTSD

Complex PTSD may be caused by experiencing recurring or long-term traumatic events, for example:

childhood abuse or neglect; domestic violence; sexual abuse

torture, sex trafficking, or slavery; war

You may also be more likely to develop complex PTSD if:

you experienced trauma at a young age

you were harmed by someone close to you who you trusted

you were unable to escape the trauma

treatment for PTSD and CPTSD is hard and when the other person your primary support is also dealing with it? that is even worse honestly there is a thing called secondary trauma

from mind: 'Secondary' means that although the original (primary) trauma happened to someone else, the impact it's having in your life is traumatic for you. It doesn't mean it's any less significant than any other kind of PTSD, or any easier to deal with. Our page for friends and family has some tips on looking after yourself.

both Mia and Ethan are dealing with the primary trauma from the baker estates and secondary trauma from each other

from PTSD UK

"Anyone who cares for a person living with PTSD can reduce the impact secondary trauma has on them if they carefully approach the situation. The first step is to learn the signs of secondary trauma:

– Emotional exhaustion – Increasingly negative perception of self – Depression – Anxiety – Difficulty eating or sleeping – Feelings of hopelessness"

ETA1 Speaking about it would be a way to make it all real again to acknowledge this horrible shit that Mia is partially responsible for (i know its not part of RE universe but the fic bruise won't heal the stain stays put from the numbers show is pretty much the thought i had with this addition for sure)

Riley: I don't know. That's kind of the whole thing. I don't know. I have no idea. I mean, in prison, it was easy. I had things to do, you know? Count the days. Count down the sentence. Eat, sleep, read. It's all pretty spelled out for you. Regimented. But here? Here I have nothing. What, am I going to get a job? Go to school? I have no money, no prospects. I just exist now. That's it. I have absolutely no purpose at all. I'm just sitting in my parents' house, breathing, and serving no purpose to anyone whatsoever. I'm just living. [long pause] And that's the worst part. Because I shouldn't be alive, Erin. So I don't know. What do I do here? I eat. Sleep. Shit. I don't know. Walk home now, eat dinner, wait out this fucking storm.

-i think the debrief and everything directly after might have been anywhere between six months and a year for Ethan and Mia

Riley: No, alcohol isn't good or bad. But the version of me that would come out when I had enough to drink, he was bad. He was selfish and careless and he ruined my life. There is a saboteur inside of me, and I always thought, you know, we'd work it out. We'd learn to live with each other, because he wouldn't really hurt me. Not me. I fed him, so he wouldn't hurt me. And then one morning I woke up and found out he killed someone. I had killed someone. So who's to blame there? I am to blame there. And God? He just kind of let it happen, didn't he? See, that's the part I cannot square. Because you're right, there is so much suffering in the world. So much. And then there's this higher power. This higher power who could erase all that pain, just wave his hand and make it all go away, but doesn't? No. No thank you. The worst part is that it lets all the rest of us off the hook. We can watch so many people just slip into these bottomless pits of awful and we can stand it. We can tolerate it because we say things like, "God works in mysterious ways." Like there's a plan? Like something good's going to come out of it? Nothing good came out of my drinking. Nothing good came out of me killing that poor girl. Nothing good came out of Joe Collie's drinking. And not a single good thing comes out of Leeza never being able to walk again. Nothing good came out of a metric ton of crude oil filling up the bay. And the only thing, the only fucking things that lets people stand by, watching all this suffering, doing nothing, doing fucking nothing, is the idea that suffering can be a gift from God. What a monstrous idea, Father.

"No Pain. No Memory, No Awareness That I Ever Was. That I Ever Hurt Someone."

eta 1 I mentioned their fics in this post so it makes sense in my head to plug them @screechthemighty @talistheintrovert

#mia winters #ethan winters #resident evil #resident evil village #eta 2 please read the reblogs #still don't like talking about it without playing it myself #shit coping methods bouncing off each other like pin balls #am i repeating myself? yes when do i not? #the hilarity of being able to include Mike Flanagans show Midnight Mass and the shit coping methods came from a video essay about Hill Hous #i want mother miranda to be played by samantha sloyan so bad #do i make sense #idk random thoughts jumping around in my head #midnight mass quotes #screech talis if you don't want me tagging you just tell me and I will remove the tags kay? #mithan

[reve-writes]

—good luck; leon kennedy.

ʚ leon kennedy x reader. | resident evil | 0,8k words. ʚ leon visits you at the hospital & you kiss for the first time. ʚ friends-to-lovers. kissing. profanity. pre-re4. ʚ a/n idk why i keep writing awkward first kisses fluff fics someone help i rewrote this twice and still don't quite love it, but here it is.

It has been almost a week.

You've been spending your days within these sickeningly white and bright room, accompanied by the constant hum of air conditioner. You had a visit from your supervisor, asking for mission reports. Outside of your work, you don't have a lot of friends anyway—and the ones you have are either busy in some part of the world somewhere combating bio-terrorism or knee-deep buried in training and paperwork.

Your eyes dart to the door when you hear knocking. Your voice is hoarse when you call out, “Come in.”

It's Leon. He throws a small smile at you when he walks in.

“One of these days—” He sighs, letting the door click shut gently behind him and makes his way towards your bed, plopping onto the chair by your bedside. “—you'll come home in a body bag.”

“Wanna bet on it?”

He stares at you pointedly, taking off his wool-lined leather jacket and hanging it over the back of the chair. “Don't even.”

Your eyes fall fall onto the lines of his body. That body-tight navy shirt really accentuates the muscles that he's built up, short-sleeves putting his arms on display. You're shameless in your staring. You have to remind yourself that he's just a friend—one that you've shared most of the bad with: the blood-smeared bodies, tear-streaked faces, grief-stricken memories, and nightmare-riddled sleeps.

“I heard that you're leaving for Spain.” You distract yourself by bringing up a topic of conversation. “When is that?”

He checks his black watch briefly. “In six hours or so.”

“And you decided to spend those six hours with me? I'm honoured, Kennedy.”

“Of course.” He shrugs. “Gotta make sure you have one last good look of me before I go.”

“I appreciate it.”

“How are you feeling?”

You feel his eyes on you, assessing your injury. Leon has always had an aptitude for observation. He sees the angry purple-and-blue bruises on your neck, noticed the way you wince slightly whenever you speak a little louder. Plus, the sling for your arm is one of the first things he notices when he sees you.

“Like shit.”

“I bet you do.”

“Getting slapped around by a goddamn B.O.W does that.”

“Tell me about it.” He adds a small chuckle. “I had a talk with your mission partner before coming here.”

“Oh, no. What did you do to poor, poor Jonas?” Your eyes narrow, looking at him in an accusatory manner. “You know that this isn't his fault.”

“He left you. Just fucking ran off. What do you mean it isn't his fault?” He argues.

You sigh. “He's new, Leon. Besides, I was the one who told him to run.”

“Don't pull that self-sacrificing shit.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the edge of your hospital bed. “I can't have you dying on me.”

“You're the one running off to god-knows-where,” you retort. “I can't have you dying on me.”

“I won't.” He gives a small lop-sided grin. “Just because you asked.”

You chuckle—or at least try to—before you wince from a sharp throb in your chest. Leon immediately stands up, his chair sliding back with a screech. He hovers over you, one hand on your shoulder and the other feeling the wall for the emergency call button.

“You okay? What's wrong?”

You nod, taking his gloved hand in yours and away from the call button. “I'm fine, you worrywart.”

When you look up to meet his eyes, suddenly the proximity between the two of you is put into perspective. His eyes—brilliant blue, gem-like—are unblinking as they are fixated on yours. You can almost feel his breath.

“We shouldn't —” you say, but your eyelashes flutter. Your heart's pounding in your chest, loud and adamant, repeatedly calling his name—the way it always does for the longest time.

His eyelids droop as he leans forward slightly. “We really shouldn't.”

“Yeah. This is a bad idea.”

“You don't think we should kiss?”

You can feel your lips brushing against his when he speaks. Featherlight grazes call for goosebumps to raise on your skin. “Well, bad ideas can lead to good outcomes someti—”

Your words are muffled, swallowed by him as his lips close over yours. You've daydreamed about this more times than you care to admit, but to actually experience it? Are you hallucinating from the meds?

“Stop thinking.” Leon huffs, biting your lower lip gently. “Just—”

Whatever he's planning to say next is lost as you once again press your lips onto his. It's a gentle kiss—he treats you as if you're made of glass, and at this point, you feel like you may actually break from your heart swelling.

Your hand reaches out to touch his hair, and you feel a sharp tug from your IV. The IV stand nearly topples over, but Leon pulls back. His reflexes are quick enough to keep the stupid metal pole from falling over.

You stare at each other—

and burst out into laughter.

“A hell of a good luck kiss,” he says, settling back down to the chair.

You bite back your smile. “There's a lot more where that came from.”

“Get better soon and we'll find out.”

[ ]

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #—ki writes 🍯

[ruershrimo]

f. megumi x reader | one moment longer

under the light of the moon, he looks more beautiful than anything.

spiky black hair shining like stunning silver, eyelashes weaved of the silkiest threads one’s genes could offer, green eyes shimmering, scrutinised by the moon’s glow. if there was a painting to describe the epitome of beauty he would be its subject.

the collar of that tidy black uniform you can nuzzle your face into, the hyaline scent of detergent and a freshly cleaned room, the rhythm of his breaths, faint and light, as lithe, warm hands rest on your back the same way puzzle pieces stay connected.

“i love you,” you hear. it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

you aren’t a jujutsu sorcerer yourself, so maybe you wouldn’t know enough. still, you know some people say that the world of sorcery is one devoid of hope and humanity; you know the general sentiment among them is that this has always been a sisyphean task, that it was born from the resistance of impermanent lives against an evil which would last for all eternity.

yet how can they let their worlds be entrenched in such darkness and lovelessness?

love and good are everywhere, you think, no matter how much loss there is to endure. you’ve felt so yourself.

you see it when you sip from teacups in cafes where the saucers come with biscuits on the side and your ears notice the shutter of his camera and you gaze at the mellow grin resting on his face. you hear it when he sends you whatever tune he’s been listening to for the past few days, sent with a text saying, “thought you might like this”. you taste it when he presses his lips to yours and kisses him back out of joy in a bold defiance of this world’s sorrows. love and good is everywhere in the mundanity of life and it’s minuscule, quiet moments.

“i love you,” he whispers again, voice as soft as a gentle breeze in an autumn-touched street, but with enough conviction to make the mightiest of rulers fall, you’re sure. you shut your eyes slowly as his feet move languidly in tandem with yours.

“you do?” you ask, “i love you too, megumi.”

one day the world he resides in will take him away from you. one day you’ll be left alone with no one to hold you under the moonlight while it spills into their wooden-tiled dorm room, one day you won’t have anyone to dance with you despite the chills outside.

but today is not that day. tonight is not the night you’ll be screeching and crying as you hear news of his death from a cellphone call. it’s not the night when you’ll be shaking and collapsing over his mangled corpse, if there even is one left.

you want a future together. you want for him to stay even after he leaves graduates, for years and years and years of his life. but even you know that with the life he’s living, with the kind of life where any night is one when he may die, you just wish that it can last for a while longer. if not two years, then maybe two months. if not two months, then maybe two weeks. or perhaps…

…just one moment longer. one moment longer with fushiguro megumi.

I don’t even write for jjk haha, I was just simping at 3 am (I want to sleep. I’ve to wake up before 9 tomorrow. someone pry my phone away from me.) I’m also doing this to cope because gege is cruel. someone help this is probably so bad I didn’t even do any formatting or anything bro that picture isn’t even one of the moon

#lmao what am I doing it’s like 3am #I’m going to sleep this is probably so bad #megumi fushiguro #jjk megumi #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #megumi fluff #ruer writes #stuff that isn’t genshin #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #fushiguro megumi #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader

[fonulyn]

Chris was in the middle of a damn horde of zombies when suddenly his earpiece crackled and went completely silent. He’d been listening to Leon’s continuous stream of bad puns for the better part of the past hour, silently amused even though he hadn’t been responding more than a word here or there.

But then. All of a sudden, without warning, Leon yelped and the earpiece screeched. The sound was so loud Chris yanked the comm. out of his ear, cursing out loud, and only after shooting down the closest zombies he tucked it back in his ear. “Leon!?” he called. “Leon!? Can you hear me!?” - Or, Leon almost drowns.

#chreon #chris redfield #leon kennedy #my fics #my chreon fics #here have some more whumptober stuff

[bumbleleewrites]

I have an idea for the suggestion; you know how tubbo HATES horror games? What if he tried playing one, but got too scared and ranboo gave him gentle t-words while he played to help get him through it

Giggly Gaming

Thanks for the ask, anon. :] Soft tickles are my absolute favourite, and this prompt really helped me feel more comfortable writing again. Hope you enjoy it!

Summary: Tubbo (very reluctantly) plays a horror game. Luckily, his friend Ranboo is there to offer some comfort.

[IRL] Lee!Tubbo, Ler!Ranboo

Word Count: 1.3k

I watched Ranboo play Resident Evil 7 (not too sure about the number!) a while back and know absolutely nothing about the game beyond that, but it's what this fic is based on. My memory has also faded regarding the gameplay, and I'm sure it shows! But I avoid horror for the most part so alas, this is what y'all get.

The luminescent clock resting on the side table glared a bright '3:17', providing the only light in the dark room aside from the television screen. Tubbo and Ranboo had their eyes glued to the latter, sitting beside each other on the carpet. 

"Nononono!" Tubbo cried. He dropped his controller and covered his face, peering through his fingers. He watched as the screen flashed crimson red, before a message appeared telling him that he'd died. 

He usually would have been happy to stay up late gaming with his friend, but there was just one issue. Ranboo had convinced him to play a horror game. Tubbo hated horror. However, Ranboo had asked him so many times earlier that week (at least a dozen, though Tubbo had stopped counting after the tenth), and he looked so happy when Tubbo finally gave him a reluctant 'maybe'. Who was he to say no?

"Hey! That's not half bad! It took me a few tries to get past here, too," 

"I hate how she just jumps out at you," Ranboo sympathised.

Tubbo gave a small nod and sheepishly bent down to pick up the controller, which had fallen onto the matted rug beneath them. "I don't like this," he complained. "There's a reason why I never play these games." He blinked, trying to get some moisture into his eyes, which stung a bit due to the intrusive glare of the television.

"Aw, c'mon, Tubs, you're so close! Just beat this section before you give up, okay?" 

Tubbo yawned. "Okay." 

He selected the option on the screen to restart, and his character reappeared in the spawn point where he'd begun the chapter. Silence, aside from the occasional line of in-game dialogue, consumed the space for a moment. That was until Tubbo let out a panicked yell, startled by the clamour of a wall breaking on-screen. 

"What? Why the fuck does he have an axe?" the boy shouted. 

He jumped back, pressing further against Ranboo's side. He felt Ranboo's arm wrap around his shoulder. 

Ranboo pulled his friend slightly in towards himself. "Okay, just keep going down to the end of that hallway. You're doing great."

"The guy has an axe, Ranboo! How am I supposed-"

"The trap door! Go there!"

"Okay!" Tubbo screeched. With a few clicks on his controller, his character was in a different room, momentarily safe from any danger. 

"Alright, good. Now look for the key."

"Where is it? There's so much stuff in- Ah!" he cried, as he heard loud stomping, and what sounded like something wooden being smashed apart.

Ranboo rubbed Tubbo's shoulder soothingly, and the latter leaned further into him, letting his head bump back against his chest. "You're doing well," said Ranboo. "The key is at the back, near those trunks."

"Oh! Thank you!" Tubbo made his character run over to the area Ranboo pointed out. He flinched when he heard a threatening yell from the enemy, who was standing on the floor above his avatar. 

"Shh, don't worry. He doesn't come down here unless you take too long. Go upstairs now and get the missing fuse," Ranboo directed. He scratched Tubbo's shoulder playfully.

"Hey!" Tubbo protested, as he bit back a giggle. He jolted out of reflex, but made no effort to change how he sat.

"What?" Ranboo asked, oblivious. Tubbo saw grey eyes peer down at him and rest their gaze on his blushing cheeks, illuminated brightly by the screen. A knowing smirk appeared on Ranboo's face. "Oh, was I tickling you?" He chuckled. "My bad." 

"S'alright," Tubbo mumbled, turning his attention back to the game. He was about to have his character open the cabinet to retrieve the fuse, when a menacing scream tore through the speakers, and he heard more crashing. He yelped and nearly dropped the controller.

"Ignore that, you're making good time," Ranboo assured, reaching out to run his nails along the other's jaw.

Tubbo grinned. "Rahan, that tickles!" 

"Oh, really?" Ranboo feigned surprise. "And do you want me to stop?"

"You're distracting me." Despite his half hearted protest, Tubbo leaned his head further into the hand.

"That's not a no," Ranboo sang, now tickling the other side of Tubbo's jaw. Cupping the latter's head with his palms, he dragged his fingers from Tubbo's chin to the space right underneath his ears, then back again. Tubbo let out a few giggles through his nose and tilted his head backwards in bliss. He felt his eyelids relax and considered allowing them to close, but he remembered that he had a task at hand. He placed the fuse in his inventory and walked his character to the fuse box. Tubbo let out a yell and jumped forward when an enemy suddenly crashed through the door. He was trapped.

"Fight him! Use your gun!"

Tubbo felt Ranboo's hands pull him back in by his shoulders. He relaxed into the comforting embrace and felt his heart race against Ranboo's chest as he shot frantically at the opponent. Finally, it collapsed, and Tubbo breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Nice job!" Ranboo cheered. He slipped his hands under Tubbo's hoodie and skittered his fingertips gently along the brunet's sides, over his t-shirt. Tubbo let out a stream of bubbly laughter.

"Whyhyhy?"

"Well, you're not so scared when I tickle you, are you?"

Tubbo groaned sleepily and clicked a few buttons. "You're a dick," he said, smiling. 

"Oh, really?" Ranboo chuckled. He scratched lightly at the nape of Tubbo's neck with one hand. "Are you so sure about that?"

Tubbo nodded, eyelids drooping contentedly, only flinching slightly when he heard a character yell on-screen. "Yeah, a massive dickhead."

The taller one exhaled a short laugh. "Yeah, okay. Oh, I should warn you, the axe guy comes into the room during this part. You just need to get the keys off the counter and drive away before he kills you."

"You say that like it's going to be easy!"

"I believe in you! You're beating it this time." said Ranboo, tracing light shapes into the area surrounding the other's collarbone. 

It wasn't an overwhelming action, barely enough to tickle, but Tubbo grew a wobbly smile nonetheless. His eyes were still narrowed in focus, glued to the television. "If you say so." 

It didn't take long for Tubbo to complete the section.

"Yes! Finally!" he cheered, pumping his fists in the air. He paused the game as soon as his character spawned in the next location.

"Not so bad, was it?"

Tubbo turned to look up at him. "Oh, no, it was horrible. Could have been worse, though." He glanced at the game. "What are we doing now?"

"Well, we could go to sleep," Ranboo started, before bringing his blunt nails up to run along Tubbo's ears, "Or we could play through a bit more?"

Tubbo squeezed his eyes shut, giggling sleepily at the light touches on his ears. He let Ranboo continue, allowing his head to go limp in the other boy's hands.

"I need an answer, Bee," Ranboo crooned, and he wiggled a set of fingers over Tubbo's stomach, causing the boy to bark out a laugh.

"Okahahay!" He thought for a moment. "Well… I guess I could play some more." He thumped his head against Ranboo's shoulder, who ran a hand through Tubbo's hair in response. 

"Sure thing." 

Tubbo turned his head back towards the television and selected the button to resume the game. He watched attentively as the opening of the next scene was narrated, the dialogue appearing at the bottom of the screen. He felt Ranboo move behind him, and rest his hands on Tubbo's shoulders. When the latter shouted out again, startled by a loud noise, Ranboo drew lines quickly up and down Tubbo's back with his fingertips. The brunet let out soft, airy laughter, a wide smile plastered on his face.

"Thahanks, Boo."

Invisible to him, Ranboo grinned. "Any time, man. Any time."

#mcyt tickle #dsmp tickle #lee!tubbo #ler!ranboo

[13phantom13angel13]

Tickle Monster Takedown

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: This took a bit longer than anticipated, but I have created this as a request from my dear @hotshot624

Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dick was on a rampage. The other boys didn’t know what to do. For a week straight, Dick would randomly attack anyone and tickle them damn near to death. This included Bruce a few times, much to his dismay. They were lucky if they only got tickled twice in a day. No matter how much they tried to avoid him, he would find them, and he would tickle them.

The final straw came for Jason while they were out on patrol. Dick was driving the Batmobile, Jason in the passenger seat. He knew this was a bad idea but he didn’t really have a choice. With one hand on the steering wheel, while zipping through Gotham, his other hand was latched on to Jason’s hip. Effectively pinning the younger one against the passenger door with no means of escape, not for lack of trying.

Jason was stuck like that for ten minutes and was out of breath by the time they reached their destination. He thanked whatever god was out there that he put his helmet on when they parked; otherwise everyone on the police force would’ve gotten to see Red Hood with flushed cheeks and tear tracks on his face. How embarrassing.

That night, Jason started plotting his revenge. He would take down the resident tickle monster if it was the last thing he did.

It took two days for the opportunity to present itself. But, oh man, was it perfect timing. Dick had just got done tickling Tim to pieces, his guard down as he basked in his victory over the smaller boy. Jason could hear Tim’s screeching from across the manor. So he decided to sneak over to see if he could strike. A sly smirk spread across his lips as he watched his prey; inattentive. Gloating. Now was the time!

Jason lunged out from around the corner, tackling Dick to the floor with a battle cry. Dick let out an inhuman squeal as he was taken down. He struggled against Jason, attempting to escape.

“Jay! Jason! What the hell are you doing!?” He squawked in disbelief as Jason finally got him pinned down. Jason smirked down at him with the most evil self satisfied grin Dick had ever seen. He tightened his grip on Dick’s wrists and he further pinned them against his chest.

“I’m just getting revenge, big bro.” He wiggled the fingers of his free hand at him. Dick stared up at him in shock. How the hell did he let himself get caught like this?

He made a valiant effort to escape, but to no avail. Jason had him good. He was screwed and he knew it. So, him being the smart man he was, started begging.

“Jay, please! No! Please don’t tickle me!” He squirmed more as Jason chuckled darkly.

“Don’t tickle you? Are you for real right now? You’ve been wreaking absolute devastation in this house for a week and you expect ME to have mercy?” Jason laughed at that. “Keep dreaming, Dickiebird. I’m about to rain absolute hell on you!” Jason dug his fingers into Dick’s side.

Dick burst into bright giggles, kicking his legs out behind Jason as he struggled for freedom.

“Jahahahahay! Plehehehehehease! No tihihihihihickling!”

“I’ve punched you in the nose. Damian bit you, for the second time, I might add. Tim kicked you in the balls. Yet, you still kept coming back. It seems to me that the only way to take down the tickle monster is to give him a taste of his own medicine!” Jason’s fingers traveled lower to his hips, lightly spidering against the sensitive flesh there. Dick squirmed a little harder, his giggles growing a little louder.

“You should’ve thought about that four days ago when you started this little game. I’m not going to stop until I feel you’ve reached your limit. Then I’ll push you past that.”

“Nohohohohohoho! I’m sohohohohorry!”

“Not nearly sorry enough.” Jason chose that moment to launch an attack on Dick’s thighs. To say Dick screamed would be an understatement. Dick screeched so loud, he could be heard halfway down the driveway leading to Wayne Manor. How do we know? Alfred apparently heard him on his way back from the store.

Dick thrashed as hard as he could; kicking, screaming, everything in his power to dislodge his mischievous younger brother. But Jason held strong. He didn’t budge no matter what Dick did.

“JAHAHAHAHAHAY!!!! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!! I CAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!” Dick quickly devolved into loud hysterical cackles. He was incoherent thirty seconds in. Jason grinned evilly as he continued to tickle the living hell out of his older brother.

A few moments later, hiccups started punching through Dick’s hysterics as he attempted to plead for mercy. Jason quirked a brow.

“I’m sorry. I can’t understand you when you’re laughing so hard. Repeat that.”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAVE MERCY!!! JAHAHAHAYI BEHEHEHEHEHEG YOU!!! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!! I’M SOHOHOHOHOHORRY!!!”

“Hm…I don’t know, dude. I’m not sure you paid enough for your transgressions. I’ll make you a deal though.” Jason paused his ministrations to make sure Dick would be able to hear him.

Dick gulped down air desperately as he looked up at him. Jason could see the beginnings of tears glistening in his eyes. He chuckled softly.

“You hold out for two more minutes, AND promise to not tickle us for the rest of the month, I’ll let you off the hook.” Another wicked smirk graced his lips.

“W-Whahahat’s the catch?” Dick giggled out. Jason’s grin grew so big it could rival Joker’s grin. (Too soon?)

“The catch is, you have to last two minutes while I tickle you here.” His hand moved from the top of his thigh to the back. Dick’s eyes widened so much, Jason thought they would pop out of his head.

“What!? You know I can’t stand it when I’m tickled there!”

“That sounds like a you problem. Now, you gonna take the deal or chicken out?”

Dick bit his lip as he thought at a rapid fire pace. He could do this. It was only two minutes, right? Yeah, but two minutes feels like forever when you’re being tickled. Especially on a spot you can’t handle. Dick closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath.

“Deal…”

“Good man.” Jason patted his leg. And that’s when he released the chaos. Without warning, Jason started squeezing the back of Dick’s thigh. Dick was lost instantly. He screamed so loud he knew he was going to lose his voice afterwards. He tried to flatten his leg to prevent the tickling, but it didn’t stop. In a matter of seconds, Dick’s cheeks turned an alarming shade of red as tears streamed down his cheeks. His back arched up off the floor as desperate cackles were ripped out of him.

Jason was surprised he was doing so well. He wanted to be a bit more evil, so he released Dick’s trapped wrists and launched a full scale tickle attack on the back of his thighs. That did him in. With one final scream, Dick arched up so much Jason thought he would snap his spine until he slammed back down against the floor. His laughter fell silent and he tapped Jason’s left thigh as a sign of surrender.

Jason immediately came to a halt, watching as his older brother sucked in some much needed oxygen.

“Wow. I’m impressed, Dick. You lasted longer than two minutes.”

Dick gave him a thumbs up as he rode out the last waves of giggles, his face slowly returning back to its normal color.

“Ihihihi guess I deseheheherved thahahat.” Dick took in another deep breath and slowly released it. “So…I can’t tickle you guys for a month?”

Jason stood up off of him dusting his hands off as he looked down at his brother.

“Nah. No tickling for a month. Or else.” Jason extended his hand to help him up. The look of danger in Jason’s eyes let Dick know he was serious. A thinly veiled threat like that from Red Hood was not to be taken lightly.

“Ok. A deal’s a deal.” He took Jason’s hand as he was hauled back to his feet.

“Glad we came to an understanding. Otherwise, I’m not afraid to enlist the other two in another tickle monster takedown.”

Dick shuddered at that thought.

“Point taken. Now let’s go get a snack. I can smell Alfred making cookies.”

Jason chuckled as he followed him into the kitchen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sorry this took so long, Hotshot! I hope you enjoy it! ❤️

#batboys #jason todd #dick grayson #ticklish dick grayson #ticklish tim drake #ticklish damian wayne #ticklish jason todd #ticklish bruce Wayne #tickle fic #batboys tickle fic #batboys tickled

[lucidreamsxx]

Obey Me! Bros take a scaredy cat MC to a haunted house.

Headcannons

LUCIFER: 100% the type to ask why in the 7 rings of hell did you call him, to a haunted house no less! Man's busy, he got dem' paperwork you kno?! Anywho, despite his grumbling he'd follow you in. If you think you can get a reaction out of this man, hah, think tf again. His face is stern throughout the entire walk, occasionally making sure you don't trip or bang into something while you're there. Would'nt admit but loves the way you cling onto him when you're scared, it gives his big ass ego a boost.

MAMMON :Oh boi... wrong person MC, wroonggg person.. You were a scaredy cat, he is a scaredy cat, let's just say you're both a recipe for disaster. He literally screams and everything amd clings onto you for dear life which doesn't help because you're just as scared and you drop the poor demon. Needless to say when you come out, both of you are scared to the core and in need of some serious comfort. Expect Mammon to bunk with you for the next week atleast, baby too scared to sleep by himself 0w0.

LEVIATHAN: He'd not be too scared of the haunted house himself, he's played plenty of games under the horror genre with games like Resident Evil and Granny helping his fear tolerance. But, BUUUTTT, snek boi with MC-chan, in a dark haunted house, close to each other, oh boiiiiii. Snek boi is on the verge of combusting as you throw yourself on him everytime a jumpscare comes up or something happens. By the end of the whole ordeal, you're scared as heck and otaku bby has made the decision of never leaving his room for the next month.

SATAN: Much like Lucifer in not even being fazed, but literally the sweetest as he takes your hand and guides you throughout the entire horror house explaining teensy weensy lil facts and stories about the props or the reason as to why they use it. In the end it does'nt end up being scary at all with Cat boi pointing out each and every single flaw in the haunted house, making you laugh at everything instead of being scared. Overall one of the bestest demons to go to a haunted house with.

ASMODEUS: Oh boiii (pt.2)....HIM? REALLY MC???? Oh dear, he simply must not, haunted houses are musty, dusty, crusty not to mention stinky, nonono it will ruin his beautiful skin. But...if his MC dear really wants him to go, *siiighhh* he supposes he will.

...bad idea, BAAADDD IDEAAAA.

Think Mammon but way way WAAAYYYYY noisier and screeching like a vulture next to you half the time. Safe to say he ain't going into a haunted house again ever. Congrats MC, you gave poor Asmo trauma :)

BEELZEBUB: Literally the best, he's super calm, and holds your hand all the way through,babyy even offers to carry you halfway when he notices your knees gave out from fright. Sweet boi doesn't even react half the time, he's too busy munching on snacks to care about the jumpscares lmfao. All in all another perfect demon to bring with you.

BELPHEGOR: No just NO, One he ain't following you to a haunted house he needs to sleep, Two if he does follow you he's still gonna sleep through the entire thing so why bother. But if he was awake, he'd make fun of you all the way, he himself would'nt get scared but he's all up for you to get scared, that cheeky lil cowboi.

#funny #obey me mc crack #anime #fanfic #fiction #writers on tumblr #writing #obey me mc #obey me #obey me blog #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphie #obey me house of lamentation #obey me funny

[demon-blood-youths]

||Horror Book Chapter 3: How to Be Evil: Scared Straight Beyond Prank Part 1

Hi everyone! This is deamon-mun and this is horror book chapter. A series started by no other than the amazing @the-silver-peahen-residence who has a knack for horror.

Now for the characters!

---------

The cast of Jujutsu Kaisen ( muses from @the-silver-peahen-residence ) - Yuji itadori, Ryomen Sukuna, Megumi Fushigoro, Nobara Kugisaki and Gojo Saturo.

My OCs: Taz Hellion, Kinie Ger and Daichi PheoniX

----- Summary -----

During class, the first-years recivced a mission from Gojo Saturo. A bunch of curse users who are using their cursed techniques to prank innocent people for the sake of fame and notirertiy. This angers the sorcerers due to incidents that harms people. To combat this mission, Taz had an idea. A horrifying idea that surprises everyone. 

What would be the idea?!

-----

--------- Tokyo Jujutsu High -----

Just a normal day in Jujutsu High.

Classes are going well. With the addition of Daichi Pheonix in the class, the class just got a little bigger. So far, Taz and Daichi are doing well in their studies. 

“Hello class! Tonight...you four have a mission.” Daichi PheoniX is not ready to take on his mission despite his self-taught experience which most of it is misguided. He is getting there thought. But Dacihi is present for the mission briefing. He keeps on writing his notes.

“Now this is going to be challenge because you’re not dealing with cursed spirits this time.” Gojo informs the four. This got the class blinking.

“Whaddya mean, sensei?” Yuji asked curiously.

“Better be not running errands and getting the cake you wanted.” Nobara frowns. 

“Hm...” Megumi said in agreement.

“I don’t mind! I love getting cakes for sensei.” Taz smiled.

“Taz. Don’t let Gojo-sensei take advantage of you. Don’t enable him and his sweet tooth!” Nobara whined which got a chuckle of Gojo. “I wish my little Taz but no. You’re going to deal with some curse users.” Gojo informs them. 

“Curse users?” Megumi furrowed his brows. This got the three a bit serious now. Taz can see the expression on big brother, Yuji’s face alright. 

“Curse users?” Daichi questioned.

“Yes, they are opposite of Jujutsu Socerers, little Kisho.” Gojo saying his real name making Daichi huff a little in annoyance. “Curse users are people who use cursed techinque for bad things. Harming others and doing malicious things.”

“So bad guys...who aren’t cursed spirits but people who have cursed energy to do bad stuff.” Daichi summarized. 

“Exactly!” Gojo nodded.

“Oh.” Taz said. Like that guy from the haunting mummy corpse incident in Tokyo.

“But this is a little different.” Gojo said.

“How is it any different.” Megumi asked. So far, they got some missions that were normal but with curse users. Humans with cursed energy who uses cursed sorercy to commit crimes and other bad things. The process of dealing with them is defeating them and leave to the high-rank sorcerers above. Sometimes...it’s either locking them up or execution.

“You will see.” Gojo had the projector ready and went to Youtube. This got the five confused. Gojo copy and paste a link. The video shows three boys who are giggling and are doing something. One of them had a cage which is the sound of growling. They were on the streets of Shinjuku. The ringleader is trying to gather a crowd to witness something amazing. A amazing pet. They opened the cage which got the five gasped. It’s ugly and it is screeching little. It looks like a dog with a long snout in a size of chibhube with lizard legs. 

A cursed spirit.

----- Video ------

“Huh? There’s nothing there!” One bystander asked. 

“Yeah. What are you trying to pull?!” Said another.

The ringleader chuckles and gives a nod to one of his accomplices. A few people gathered just to pass time. Some lingering around as they are hanging out. The accomplice with the dark brown hair smirks and snaps his fingers and then...the cursed spirit charges. Disappearing into the crowd. 

“Just keeping watching, people! Just keep your mind open!” The ringleader chuckled. Then gasps and screams are heard from the crowd making ringleader grin wider. “MY LEG!” She screams in terror. The camera pans in the woman’s ankle has bite mark on it.

“What the hell?!” One of the bystander screams, backing away from the woman. The screams got some people’s attention.

“Careful! Careful! Everyone! It’s on the loose. The invisible pet is on the loose!” The ringleader tells. “Don’t panic! It will sense your fear!” The ringleader said, trying to calm the crowd down. 

Then another shriek. “Something bit my hand!” A salaryman shows a bite mark on his hand to the crowd making non-sorcerers dumbfounded. Those bite marks are too real to be fake. 

“Ah! I got bit!” 

“I can’t see it! Where is it?” One man looks around as he also got bit. This got the cameraman cracking up. 

“Ow! My leg! Oh god!” Cried a highschooler. “Something bit me!” She cried as she bursts into tears.

“What the hell. This gotta be fake!” Said one skeptic. 

“This ain’t fake. Something did bit me!”  Said the salaryman. 

“You must be an actor!” Said the skeptic.

“AM NOT!” Salaryman said angrily. 

“Someone help! My hand is bleeding!” Said a highschooler as her friends are looking at her wound. One of her friends pointed at the trio. “What the hell?! Who are you guys!”

“Yeah! This ain’t funny.” Said an older man. “I got bit too.” 

“Huh?! Whaddya mean! It’s just a prank, bro!!” The ringleader laughs. The video cuts short.

------ Video Ends ------

“What the hell is this?” Megumi said, now ticked off. Even Yuji and Nobara didn’t like this as they saw the entire video. Taz looks very concerned while Daichi had a good idea on what this is but he needs more confirmation. 

Gojo sighs. “This is one of these cases where curse users uses their sorcery to gain notoriety while relying on the ignorance of non-sorcerer’s populace. Unlike the ghost hunters, these guys are the real deal as they can see the cursed spirit and use their sorcery to benefit themselves.”

“Is there any more videos of these guys doing this, sensei?” Yuji asked. Gojo nods, he shows the same videos of the two people. The video is Finding the Lost Wallet goes Wrong. 

------ Finding The Lost Wallet Goes Wrong Video ----

The ringleader snickers while one of his accomplies. The one with the brown hair tells a girl that he lost his wallet, using his charm on the girl. The girl nods and helps. They look around the park which seems to be Uneo park. She is near the pond and suddenly. The ringleader does something. A black mist grabs hold of the girls’ legs and with a lift followed then a huge splash! The girl has falls to the pond.

“Oh my god! Are you okay?!” Said one of the accomplices, going to help the girl but she slipped and fell into the pond once more. 

The girl coughs. “W-what hapepend?! Something got my legs!” The girl looks scared.

“Must be the spirit of Ueno Park!” The 20-something man lied. The girl looks startled. 

The scene cuts to a man who also experience the same thing.  Then another persona and another. 

-----

The three delinquents were laughing their asses off which are getting the students pretty upset.

“Those jerks...” Nobara said as Taz nods in agreement. 

“Oh there is another one! This one is a bit famous and got our attention.” Gojo said.

“What could be possibly worse than this?!” Nobara asked. Gojo go to the third final video. Stay Inside the Dark Box Challenge. The ringleader offers any passerby 50,000 yen if they stay inside the box for five minutes. 

The five students are now wondering what this antic entails....and they are not looking forward to this. At the same time, Kinie and Sukuna are watching from their inante domains. 

---- Dark Box Challenge Video  -----

“Hey there! Want to win 50,000 yen if you stay inside that big box there for 10 minutes?” He asked one man who looks a bit down on his luck. His eyes lit up at the challenge in getting some free money.

“Sure!” 

The box in question is big and is size of casket on the large size. There were holes so the other can breath safely but it is oscboruce by black drape but it doesn’t affect the holes in anyway. The accomplice escorts the man into the box and closes it. 

“Alright! Go!” The ringleader presses the timer. 

One minutes passes. Nothing.

Two mintues and soon....the man begins to speak. “Hey...something is crawling on my leg.”

“Just the wind!” The ringleader quickly said while the camerman is snickering. 

Three mintues passed.

“Uh! Something is in here with me!” The man’s voice is getting scared and before the five minute is up. The man screams, “LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!” The accomplice opens the door and the man bolts out of the box and yelling in fright.

“Oh well!” The ringleader shrugs. “Who would be next.”

Then they seek other contenders. From man, woman, to highschoolers and middle schools to the eldery. All of them scream in fright within three minutes and want to be let out before the five minute mark.

The last one is a high school boy crying as there are tears in his eyes. The trio are laughing their asses off once more and inside a box is something move. It had long hands and it is upside down. A cursed spirit.

“You just got pranked!” The ringleader laughs while the two boys are laughing with them. 

-------

This put a nail in these guys’ coffin.

“These....” Megumi begins as he glares at the three boys. Are you kidding me?! They’re using cursed spirits to do these things?! Have they lost their mind?! And using sorcery to do these damn things?! 

“The hell!” Yuji yelled angrily. Did they use a cursed spirit against people like that. Yuji can’t let that slide. Ever.  

“What the hell?! Did they use a cursed spirit for this challenge!” Nobara shouted. All those poor people are going to traumatized because of these damn jerks. 

“That’s so wrong....” Taz said. 

“Ugh...you gotta be kidding me....these assholes....” Daichi said angrily which got the four turned to the rookie. They never heard Daichi being this angry. “Uh! Sorry! I mean...uh...I think I know what they’re doing...” Daichi sighed.

“You do?” Megumi aksed with a raised brow.

“Yeah....they’re doing pranks...” Daichi sighed.

“PRANKS?!” The three shouted in disbelief.

“How are these pranks?!” Nobara pointed at the video. 

“Yeah! Someone got hurt badly from the first one and second!” Yuji said angrily. 

Daichi rubs his neck, “Because it isn’t, these guys don’t know how to do good pranks that doesn’t involve hurting someone. They doing this to get views and do this under the pretense of pranking people as an excuse. That’s why they said, it’s just a prank. They’re using their sorcery to get what they wanted.”

“That is exactly right, Daichi.” Gojo nods. “These curse users are using sorcery and controlling these cursed spirits to get more famous. Of course nobody knows how they did it and there were complaints against them. But police hasn’t found any evidence of wrong-doing because they lack cursed energy which means they get away a lot.” Gojo hums. “So you four are going to figure out on how to find them and stop them.”

“I think we can put an a stop to them.” Megumi begins. 

“Yeah let’s beat them up!” Yuji said.

“Make them wish they ever been born!” Nobara yelled. All three are ready to dish out some punishment on these so-called curse user pranksters. But then Taz has an idea. A horrifying idea. 

“Or we can scare them beyond straight with our own prank..” Taz begins. These got the four students turn to them. They look at Taz.  

“Did Kinie give you an idea?” Nobara asked to which Taz shakes her head. “No...these people are not going to learn if we fight them. They’re going to run away from us and try to make fun of us. So we need to prank them to the point where they don’t do anymore pranks anymore.” She begins.

“So what are you thinking, lil sis?” Yuji said. 

“We gotta scare them so bad that they think they’re dying. We gotta put fear into them! Scared Beyond Straight!” Taz begins with determination. 

“EH?!” The four stared at Taz in disbelief even Sukuna is surprised to hear from the pup. Kinie is surprised to hear this too and she didn’t say anything or suggest this idea! So the cursed spirits are interested in hearing what Taz has to say. Gojo is now intriguted by Taz’s words. “And how are you going to do it, Taz?” Gojo asked. 

“Shdwkyz said that if you want to teach people like that a lesson. A good lesson so they can remember in their very soul. You have to terrorize them to the point where they give up and to the point of tears and making sure they accept defeat.” Taz said.

That’s pretty dark.... The students and the teacher thought. Kinie never thought about that and she agree that’s dark too. Even Sukuna never thought the pup had such a mindset to a problem like this. 

“So to do that...you have to trap them in a place that’s away from the city or somewhere deep in the city like a house. Where they can’t get away and have no place to go.” Taz begins. “Then you have to set up places where you make them think they reach the exit but every time they reach it. It’s gone. You have to make them abandon hope and make them fight for their lives before you put fear in their hearts and thwart all their efforts. You have to make them lose their minds so they can accept defeat. Make them despair..” Taz said seriously in her emotionless voice. She is saying word for word that Shdwkyz taught her. 

“Sis...” Yuji begins while Sukuna is thinking. Wow. 

“Er...” Daichi blinked.

“Huh...” Megumi said.

“Um..”  Nobara said. Now all the students are thinking. 

What in the HELL did Shdwkyz teach her?! 

“Wow. That sounds like a brilliant idea!” Gojo said with a smile much to his students’ disbelief, liking where Taz is going with this. “Now the question is how we’re going to lure them?”

“Uh! Well..” Taz blinks, “I don’t know...maybe we send them a message or...I haven’t thought about it.” And Taz is back with her innocent self as she is thinking about it. 

“How about I join in?” Daichi asked with his hand raised. “I’m not going to join in for the sake of fighting but I can use my status to get them to come as a collab. We can lure them that way.” Daichi suggested. 

“Nice thinking, Daichi!” Gojo applauded. Yuji, Megumi and Nobara nodding in agreement. 

“And we are going to use our cursed techiques to scare them straight!” Taz exclaimed. 

“YEAH!” Nobara, Daichi and Yuji are now excited and riled up while Megumi nods, he doesn’t show it but he likes this plan, alright. Someone needs to teach these curse users a lesson. 

“With Yuji, he can make things shake and scare them with his super strenght by breaking down the walls.” Taz said. Yuji nods. “I like that, sis!”

“Megumi can use his shikigami to chase them.” Taz smiles. Megumi said. “Yeah..I think my shikigami are enough.” 

 “Nobara can trap them and hit them with nails after Daichi leads them to the trap!” Taz said. Nobara chuckles evilly. “Yeah....I can’t wait to show them mine.” While Daichi is nodding, now feeling pumped.

“Pup. What about me?” A voice is heard. It’s on Yuji’s cheek. It’s Sukuna who is now liking this plan. “I can help the brat here. Just this once.” He said, referring to his vessel. 

“Wait...really?!” Yuji said, blinking as he is surprised to hear this. 

“Why the hell not? Those punks are treating Jujutsu sorcery as a some kind of joke so we need to teach them how terrifying it can be.” Sukuna chuckles evilly. The students are hesitated but knowing Sukuna, he knows how to put fear into people. So having him can work. 

“Sure! Mister Sukuna! Knowing you, you know how to do scary best!” Taz said. Sukuna grins on his mouth. “Perfect! Alright brats! I going to teach you five how to be EVIL for this night! Because we’re going to teach these punks what real Jujutsu Sorcery is about.”

“I shall join in this hunt as well!” Kinie pops up from Taz’s head in quoll form. “With my hunting expertise, I make this experience enjoyable.”

And thus....the mission begins with Gojo’s encouragement. Oh dear lord...god save these curse users’s souls. They’re going to learn tonight from these seven. 

To be continued....

#ic #thesilverpeahenresidence #The Horror Book Chaper 3: How to be Evil: Scared Beyond Straight Prank #The Horror Book Chapter || Drabble; #thesilverpeahenresidence ( The Cursed Vessel But A Kind Soul - Yuji Itadori ) #thesilverpeahenresidence ( The Shadowy Jujustu Sorcerer - Megumi Fushigoro ) #thesilverpeahenresidence ( The Hammer and Nail Jujustu Sorcerer - Nobara Kugisaki ) #thesilverpeahenresidence ( The King of Curses - Sukuna Ryomen ) #thesilverpeahenresidence ( The Coolest UnLimited Jujutsu Teacher - Gojo Satoru ) #tasmaniandevil #let the evil begin!! XD

[tartrazeen]

Thinking about Fallout vaults in a mildly evil Vault-Tec mood, and thinking I would've liked a crawl mechanic in one of the games. What's cool is that I think this even fits within the very, very, very original Fallout 1 concept for these vaults, too.

That's because I'd like a vault where every single room was separated by a long hall.

When the vault dwellers are first sealed in, it's presented as a weirdly and almost wasteful design: what should be a quick walk down a corridor in any other place has been stretched out to be six times as long here. There's nothing added along the way - these are just unnecessarily long halls.

Even within living quarters, there isn't just a bathroom leading into a bedroom. It's another long hallway in-between. And another between the bedroom and the living room, and another between that and the kitchen.

Any distinguishable 'room' in this place is always, always connected by a long hall. And there's one room that each dweller must abide above all others:

Keep the halls clear.

And this rule is enforced.

Some residents try to capitalize on the 'extra space' by putting some furniture in there. Unfortunately for them, every night, an automated scan is made to check whether the halls are clear.

If even a single hall is obstructed - by anything from a couch to at errant sock - the emergency lights switch on, sirens blare, and the broadcast system screeches that an "obstruction in the [hall ID number] is detected". This goes out across the entirety of the vault and in every room, forcing residents awake and everyone into action until whatever hallway it is has been cleared.

The sirens do not stop until the Overseen manually initiates another check. If that hallway is clear, the sirens stop and the lights return to normal. If there's still an obstruction, everything continues. If there was actually more than one hallway obstructed, then even if the one that was originally identified is now clear, everything continues but now IDs the next hall that it's found a problem with. It continues going one by one until every single hallway is clear.

This, obviously, is not fun to deal with, and the residents quickly recognize how important it'll be to keep all their shit out of the halls. Even the idiots who try to skirt past the rule by 'just' hanging a picture frame realize that yes, that counts too.

In the first month, this is all it is. Scan happens at midnight, sirens go off, hallway is cleared. Everyone learns to check every hall in their area, and thinks begin to loosely organize a larger division of the vault for teams to check. Since the hall IDs are called for everyone to hear, there's an easy way to know who's slacking off on checking and whose fault it is this time - especially if it's in somebody's living quarters. They get the most shit for not just keeping the damn halls clear.

Ultimately, everyone falls into the new pattern. With an apocalypse outside and this being the only price for safety, it's not that bad of a deal.

And then the second month rolls along.

At midnight, the entrance and exit to each hall - every single one in the vault - is sealed by a thick, metal wall. Massive rumblings occur over the next hour, vibrations shaking everything and a clear sense of movement overtakes the residents, trapped in whatever room they'd been in at that time. After probably twenty minutes of this (but a sheer eternity for people who just ran into this place to avoid having bombs dropped on their head), the rumbling stops and the hallways are unsealed.

The residents go to look inside.

There are no longer any neat, straight hallways. They've shifted into modulated levels. Some are now gigantic stairs, requiring people to climb more than anything. Some are broken into tall segments with ladders now protruding from the sides to get up. Some, most frustratingly, are simply steep inclines. There's nothing for residents to hold onto, and not everyone's hands and feet are grippy enough to up and down.

This is, for all intents and purposes, total horseshit.

The residents storm the Overseer's office, demanding answers, but there aren't any for the Overseer to provide. The only information that Vault-Tec gave was a "Resident Assistance Mode" to use if the Overseer determined the residents were having too much trouble following the rule (i.e. keeping the halls clear). But that's for an emergency, and ultimately not the problem they're facing right now, which is that Little Timmy's too short to get to the massive steps to pee, and Granny's too frail to climb the ladders down to the kitchen.

People eventually come up with solutions. Batman-esque plungers are used for the steep slopes. Pulleys and ropes are used to help lower others up and down. Ladders are set up where there halls didn't produce them. Of course, all of this has to be removed before midnight or they'll set the sirens off. There are a surprising number of people who fail to do that, however, raising everyone's stress and anger throughout the vault when it happens. But they figure it out. Keeping the halls clear becomes everyone's top priority, and the first night where there are no alarms is like music to everyone's ears.

Month three.

It is 8 AM.

The lights switch over. The sirens go off. An obstruction has been detected in hall ID (whatever).

There's confusion, obviously, and even more after they take down the ladder in one family's 'front door' hall and the sirens go off to panic about another hall immediately after. It's a full scan. Every hall's being checked like it's midnight. It doesn't take long for everyone to realize this and put everything away until the scan's complete.

It takes all the way until 10:34 - surprisingly quick for the number of halls there are to deal with, but exhaustingly slow for a vault of people who've been doing so well at this for so long. It seems like when everyone's forced to start clearing things at the same time, rather than just whatever time they need to be ready before midnight, the obvious differences in how fast different families can move sinks in. There's more frustration, but they do it. The sirens are off.

It is 11 AM.

The lights switch over. The sirens go off. An obstruction has been detected in hall ID (whatever).

They all move much faster this time, since most people hadn't even put their ropes and ladders up yet. They're done at 11:19.

It is 12 PM.

The Overseer has no answers for why scans are now happening hourly, but the reality is that they are, so at least they know what to do: keep the halls clear. It's not that bad, after all. It's a whole hour. How long does it take to cross one of these hallways?

The "Resident Assistance Mode" is not mentioned to any of them.

Eventually, everyone sort of... sucks it up. Every hour - okay, fine. At least they know now. Anything used to help anybody else now has to come with them out of the halls each time. It's a pain in the ass, especially for the people who need the help to get up and down, but they can manage for the most part. The grimly good news about running to the vault is that self-selected for people who could make the trek, or specifically had somebody to help them.

Month four.

At midnight, the hallways seal. The residents had been partly expecting this, and many bets are won.

Once the halls open, residents are horrified to learn that the frustrating ladders and slopes have morphed into full-on obstacle courses. Forget Granny or Little Timmy getting through - Mommy and Daddy now have to balance across a beam over a deep pit, slide down and then climb back up a pole, and embrace what's essentially a bouldering wall just to take a piss in the middle of the night.

The only reason the Overseer's office isn't rushed this time is because of the monkey bars they have to get past. Good news: enough still manage to figure it out. Humanity's fuelled by the magic of wanting to kick someone's ass.

Things are fundamentally the same as it ever was. If they don't want to hear the sirens, deal with the obstacle course. Yes, it's awful, but what are they supposed to do? No one wants to hear, but there's nothing else to be said.

The workarounds are different this time. Now, the residents are looking at trade-offs between the halls. There are work- and ration-based incentives for families to switch living quarters with each other to give easier halls to those who can't manage the ones they've been stuck with. Significantly more coordination goes into 'entering' each room, with one resident trekking over to get whatever a whole group might need. New roles are developed based purely on their ability to do this too, with a schedule in place to say when they'll arrive to an area and fetch things for other people. It's a lot of waiting, but at least the option exists at all. It's especially helpful for when the injuries pile up.

For some, the idea of traversing halls dies forever. They can't do it. It isn't worth it. Either a room is 'closed off' because hey, they didn't really need a third classroom, or things are set up to be closer. Maybe they'll have to wait for a trek team before they can get any Vault-Tec milk from their fridge, but they can pull a table into their bedroom and keep non-perishables in there. It can be a tight fit sometimes, but they can do it to cut down on having to go to other rooms at all.

Those who truly can't get around decide to branch out from their quarters. That old classroom that no one can really get to? With enough determination, one family moves in there. They might be more or less trapped within this one room now, but Granny was trapped as soon as the scans became hourly, so at least this prison cell's more spacious.

Changes like that get made throughout the vault as much as possible, with certain families willing (and forced) to forgo certain amenities in favour of leaving their quarters for a newly repurposed room. But those are for the more permanent changes. For the people who simply slip and break a leg, it doesn't seem 'worth the effort' to move when they'll be back on their feet in a month. They can tough it out.

Month five.

It is 9:15 AM.

Once the sirens stop, everyone agrees to stay the fuck out of the hallways until they come up with a plan. If someone really can't move their ass to the other side in fifteen minutes without something else helping them, then don't move. Stay home. You're making it everybody else's problem.

Because the thing about these sirens isn't just that they're based on inanimate objects. They're based on people, too. Nobody realized this when the scans only happened once a night, when everyone was already out of the hallways anyway. More people caught on once it was hourly, but since most of those who needed more time than what was left in the hour to get across had been the ones trying to cross with some sort of equipment, the blame still fell onto that. But with scans now happening every fifteen minutes, and sirens going off when someone is casually crossing without holding anything else, it's finally clear: yes, they count too.

And this is untenable. The hardship trapping some people at home during hourly scans was something they could live with, but for the alarms to be tripped by people who are supposed to be able to cross? No way. They aren't dealing with that hassle anymore. Something must be done. This time, even the Overseer agrees.

The "Resident Assistance Mode" is activated.

As pissy as some folks are that it wasn't activated sooner, back when Granny needed it, they rest of them are just happy it's running now. There doesn't seem to be much change, especially since the halls were clear before they switched it on, but later that day, they finally hear it:

"Obstruction cleared in [Hall ID]."

And that's it.

No sirens, no lights, no nothing else. The relief goes out across the vault, and while there are bound to be conversations on whether this Overseer should stay the one in charge, they're happy to save it for later. It's over. Finally.

Right until one resident happens to ask, "Hey, what does it mean by 'cleared'?"

They check the hall that had been called out. It's sealed. Just that one. It doesn't open again for hours, and while they wait, there are two other obstructions cleared in two other halls. Both are sealed now as well.

The first fear they have is that the hall is lost to them forever. The thought of someone being trapped on the other side and left to rot, or some critical infrastructure room being permanently cut off, brings on a simmer of quiet panic. But eventually the halls re-open. That's good news. Great news.

The second fear they have is the hall itself. It hasn't physically changed - it's still a funhouse in there. But it is...

... warmer.

And clear.

Dots are quickly connected. "Resident Assistance Mode" was meant to help them keep the halls clear. It's doing exactly that - through a brand-new self-cleaning mode, just like they have on their standard-issue Vault-Tec ovens.

The panic reaches a fever pitch: they're trapped in a nightmare that'll cook them to charcoal if they run over the 15-minute timer to get across.

Is there a way to shut it off? To please, please shut it off?

Apparently that feature was still "Coming Soon!"

So no. There was no shutting it off.

Month six.

Residents were expecting more rumblings. There aren't any. The halls stay as complicated as they are, but don't get worse. Unbeknownst to them just yet, there are two changes made to the vault this time.

The first is the automated voice. Its update got an update. At 1:37 PM, the vault hears, "Obstruction cleared." No hall ID to go with it. No way to check which hall it was other than to manually check which one was sealed or at least warm, and even then, it'd be hard to know what obstruction was cleared until some equipment was missing - or until someone was conspicuously absent.

The second was on the Overseer's terminal. Part two of the experiment had begun.

More changes and adaptations were being made across the vault to deal with their new reality. The atrium - the largest single space between any of the halls - was converted to a mass shelter for the injured. There was only so much space to go around, so it was given to those who needed to recover from their injuries, and who weren't yet set-up to live by themselves. Beds were scarce, as it often took longer than 15 minutes to get one across particular halls. But having people stay in one more than one place meant asking the trek teams to go to more than one place, and going anywhere had become of a gamble than ever. If someone needed help, they were going to have to migrate to the group, or else barter to convince someone they were worth the gamble.

As fast as they could, people were organized by their ability to traverse the halls. Those who could were given their pick of the rooms. The assumptions was that they would take the places with the most complicated halls.

This is not what unfolded.

Those who couldn't get through the halls too well couldn't really go anywhere on their own, could they? In that case, why waste the 'good' halls on them just for those who could get around to be stuck with the 'bad' ones? Since the more fit of the residents were expected to move around the most, it made sense for them to live where the halls were the easiest to get through. It'd cut down on injuries, and it'd save their energy and concentration for the complicated halls later.

After all, if the normal residents got hurt trying to climb everywhere just because they technically could, how were they supposed to help the - uh...

... the other residents?

Everyone who showed up to discuss this liked the idea very much.

It was decided, then. Those who could more easily move around were given the easier halls to match how often they needed to travel. Those who were slower were moved to live in groups by the moderately more difficult halls. Those who insisted on staying where they were had to prove they had friends or family willing to brave the dangers. But if they did have friends and family to help, clearly they didn't need such an easy hall, since they still wouldn't be the one going up down that obstable course. So they would be moved accordingly anyway. Where this ended up affecting their friends' and family's ability to help, well - didn't that just prove the point of needing to move them?

Things were falling neatly into place.

As the month came to a close, the Overseer (the same one) called for a vault meeting. Given the timing, it was important to be there. Everyone who was anyone made sure to show up - and on behalf of their families too, of course, if someone they knew couldn't attend.

The Overseer explained that there was a new option set up for them. The option was labelled "Scan Interval", which was broken out into three frequencies: 24 hours, 1 hour, and 15 minutes. Before more of this could be explained, the present residents screamed to have it set to 24 hours. But not so fast, the Overseer said, because it wasn't a choice of frequencies. It was an order.

Next month, they would be back to one scan every 24 hours. Two months later, it would be one scan every hour. Two months after that, it would be every 15 minutes, the same as it was now. They had a choice of making the intervals play out in a different order, and the Overseer barely got to say anything else before everyone clamoured for 24 hours again.

So it was decided. Months seven and eight would scan the hallways every 24 hours, months nine and ten would scan hourly, and months eleven and twelve would come back to every fifteen minutes. That would give them time to prepare. They could absolutely pull this off. Beds could be properly moved, residents could be reunited with their families, and those who needed support could be made more accessible to trek teams during the 15-minute intervals.

Month seven began with the hallways sealed.

The rumblings sent sheer terror through everybody. The screams and prayers faded quickly into overwhelmed and silent waiting. Eventually, the rumblings stopped and the rooms stilled, and the halls re-opened.

And staring at them all, in every one of them, were perfectly straight but oddly long corridors.

The celebration was louder than the sirens had ever been. They were free. Perhaps only for two months, but that was better than nothing. The joy kept them going throughout the weeks as they worked, reorganizing everyone's living situations, atrium-based shelters, rations and supplies for those they expected to be trapped again, and plenty of cardio and strength-training.

Some jobs, like those assigned to keep generators running, were moving refrigerators and beds into corners of those rooms. If - when - the halls shifted again, they weren't going to take the risk of being cut off from those machines. There were some risks in crowding those places, but none compared to something breaking behind a hall that no one could get through.

Eventually, and just before the month was over, the work was finished. Assuming that if the hallways changed again, they would change into the same configuration as before, they would be ready. It was the most anyone could do given this environment.

Month eight, as was expected, sealed the halls. Once they'd re-opened, the residents saw the same, frustrating halls as last time. Not as bad as the ones in month four, since these are back to the month two halls with the too-large stairs and steep slopes, but the loss of the straight corridors is upsetting. Still, there aren't any pits to balance over, and they have a whole day to work. Knowing that the more complicated halls are likely to come back later on - which, by their calculations, should be month ten - helps them get a plan together for that too. They'll only have fifteen minutes to deal with those, and those are the hardest ones.

There's a focus on getting survival stations prepared. Everyone remembers which halls were abandoned last time; do they have better strategies this time, or do they just accept that those will be closed off too? What can they rearrange? What can they clear out into 'storage'? Priorities are changed and redefined now that they see how things will unfold.

Those who can't travel again have the supplies they need to hold out until help arrives. But there's a worry in the air about that. 'Until help arrives'. With the "Resident Assistance Mode" turned on, any trek team that falls behind won't just be dealing with angry noises. And their failure means others will be left behind. This is solved by giving them some extra supplies, but for those relying on others in vault, it feels like a band-aid stuck over the problem.

Month nine brings them back to hourly scans at last. The residents test this with some scrap; sure enough, and on the hour, that hallway seals and "Obstruction cleared" rings out. With everyone where they need to be, however, things go smoothly.

There are one or two close calls. Trek teams only enter a hall at the start of the hour to give themselves the full 60 minutes to pass through. It's considered excessive at first, since it's a five minute journey at best, but when someone goes alone, slips, and breaks a leg, they're endlessly grateful to have had fifty minutes to crawl to safety. Someone else was grateful to have had thirty minutes to call for help, and twenty to be evacuated.

The vault agrees that no one, not even those who physically fit, should be going through the halls alone. A buddy system is put into place. Whistles are used to signal an 'all clear' as one reaches the other side. It's a good way to keep everybody calm. It doesn't quite stop the renewed understanding that if someone slips in months eleven or twelve, there won't be a point in blowing a whistle except to say goodbye.

Month ten.

The hallways seal.

Fortunately, the configurations are the same as last time.

This is also unfortunate, but beyond the residents' control.

With the funhouse style of hallways back in place, the vault pushes through as much of their daily lives as they can. Folks who are trapped stay hunkered down, with enough resources to last to the middle of a month. That many supplies is a good balance between how much a person or family needs, and how trek team can carry when they tick over to the 15-minute intervals next month. It isn't perfect, but it'll keep them going. Food has to be distributed evenly over the next twenty years that they're in here, so there's reluctance to give everyone who's confined to a room enough for a full month. They'll need to be resupplied anyway, and if things really are that dire, those residents should be moved into groups again.

'Moved into groups' shouldn't have sounded like a threat, but it seems efficient at ending the conversation.

Month eleven is what they had prepared for. Bad luck reared its head again, however. "Obstruction cleared" rings out for those trek teams they lost, and for the supplies that had to be sacrificed to clear the room. It's obvious that two weeks' worth of supplies is too much to carry. At the town hall, the residents present agree to reduce it to one week's worth. Yes, it'll mean more frequent trips, but the quality - the success rate - is what tips the focus away from the quantity.

It's a bit of surprise when fewer supplies are delivered. There's only so much that can be said, but it is said. Unfortunately it's up to the trek teams to carry that message back, and the message is either waved off as unavoidable or misattributed as whining, if not greed. So long as everyone does their part, they'll be fine. If those living are their own are so worried...

The complaints don't disappear, but they do get quiet.

Month. Twelve.

Last time, on month six, there'd been a change to the automated announcements. Residents weren't sure what it could be changed to this time. No announcements at all, perhaps? The ones they had weren't very good. Knowing an obstruction was cleared but not where left people wondering who they'd lost and if they were going to be able to eat.

They aren't sure if the announcements have changed, but at midnight, that ends up being their last concern.

Because the hallways are sealed.

And they are moving.

The rumbling takes well over an hour this time - the longest it's been. There's an unbearable dread looming over them. With it comes some delirious hope - maybe it's a good thing! Maybe the halls will be a regular size for once.

They aren't.

When the hallways re-open, they offer a new wave of fresh fucking hell.

Some halls have had their ceilings lowered to just over a foot high. Some twist like vent shafts, at sharp 90° and even 120° angles. Some are just a smooth, spiral slide up. Some have ladders, and the rungs are barbed.

And there are 15 minutes between each scan.

They're trapped. They're all trapped. There's a point where they stop disposing of corpses in the hall; they have kids to feed. Some families try to avoid the topic from the start by rolling the dice on the hallways anyway. If they make it through, they'll return with supplies. If they don't, at least there's one less mouth to feed.

An obstruction is cleared almost every day. The delirious hope helps those who stay behind pretend it's for someone else. There's always that chance. They'll know once the month is over.

More survive than they expected.

But it doesn't really say that much.

It doesn't occur to them that the new year's rumblings is supposed to be good news. The hallways seal at the start of month thirteen, and the hallways restraighten into straightforward corridors.

There's no celebration this time. What unfolds is a dark march from room to room to see who didn't make it. They're able to confirm that the intervals are back to 24 hours by piling the corpses into the halls and waiting. The obstructions are cleared at midnight, per the vault's Resident Assistance Mode.

Everyone keeps the halls clear after that, 24 hours or not.

A few days pass before the Overseer is seen, looking surprisingly health for someone who'd been trapped like they'd been. The Overseer explains this as having been able to get through the nearby halls and finding supplies. Unfortunately the other halls were too difficult to travese. This answer's accepted, begrudgingly.

The attention sombrely moves to preparing for the next round of hallways and scans intervals. The Overseer has more bad news: they've missed their chance to change the order of the intervals. It needed to happen during month twelve, and the Overseer's office was too far to get to.

Fortunately, it seems they've been given an option to pick the order of the hallways. Knowing that scans will be in order of 24 hours, hourly, and every 15 minutes should help in deciding when the halls should be in first, second, third or fourth position; in other words, one month of straight corridors, two months big slopes and stairs, two months as funhouse-style, and one month of the hell that's left them all so devastated.

They're committed to this month being their one month of straight corridors. Changing that would've had to happened in month twelve, too. But they can still change the order of the other ones. There's more flexibility with the halls than with the order of the intervals. Maybe one month of hell would be easier to endure if they'd had a full day to get through.

It's something for everyone to consider.

In fact, there are many combinations to consider.

With so many dangers outside - radiation, rubble, disasters both natural and manmade - there was plenty to learn from a group made to choose the best combination for their society's needs. Especially as more vault dwellers were injured, where would the decisions be led? What solutions would they create? Which areas would be abandoned? Which people?

The experiment would continue for years, perhaps. Living spaces would simultaneously shrink for those who couldn't make it through certain halls, and order was often established not just by detaining someone, but by giving them an undesirable hall. What that says for those who purposely assigned those halls from the outset is left unsaid among the residents, but actively noted for Vault-Tec.

Communications are limited in many ways, as the vault's walls couldn't be drilled through and new wires couldn't be strung up, but lights, instruments, banging, and good old fashioned yells helped during the worst of the halls and most disconnected of families and friends. The problem of how to survive when a person had no families and friends was left to solve itself.

Eventually, an optimal combination is found. The trek teams know the routes, supplies are adequately stocked, residents are sufficiently relocated. Two complete cycles pass without any obstructions.

The halls are decidedly kept clear.

So part three of the experiment begins.

The first month of this next cycle is a restocking and training month. Straight corridors, fifteen minutes, in and out to resupply everyone and train the new trek teams on their routes. The long, straight halls are excellent practice for speed and basic hand-off coordination. This will be followed by one month of hell, where everyone returns to hiding - to 'get it over with' - where no one will bother venturing out into different rooms. After that is two months of hourly scans of second-position halls, and then two months of third-position halls with daily scans. Having just completed a cycle with that very combination, the residents are excited for a moderately fresh breath of air.

Imagine their suprise when the month begins with daily scans at the hellish fourth-position halls. An hour isn't enough to traverse many of the gauntlets they're facing.

Their screaming has to wait until the next month, whereupon the halls move to their third position - another bad choice for hourly scans when they so badly need to resupply. The Overseer's office is rushed, and the news is delivered:

The system has rejected a third iteration of the same cycle, and in lieu of more appropriate input, has randomized the newly remaining choices. The cycle pattern they've been relying on will no longer be accepted.

The Overseer is sorry.

And, let it be known, healthy.

It isn't just the fact that the Overseer appears to be fed. That was answered long ago: that area has traversable halls. Of course no one else is camping in the area to confirm it, but there have been some brave souls to make it through during a period of fourth-position halls during hourly scans. Fifteen minutes, albeit a lofty goal, isn't an impossible one when fuelled by such desperate adrenaline.

But even the best of trek teams have...

... wounds.

Scratches. Scrapes. Bumps from the suddenly tight turns. Red eyes from dust. Strain from training.

Fear.

The Overseer seems healthy in a way that none of the trek teams can understand. It's a conversation for later, but one they intend on coming back to.

They need to survive.

But buried in the plan that gets them through this is a plan to see what exactly the Overseer knows.

The next cycle has the vault dwellers meeting the fourth-cycle with new purpose: not to escape the terror of being shut in, but the confidence in knowing they've shut the Overseer out. They do camp in the Overseer's office, and they enjoy one month of unfettered access to the central terminal. There's little information on the halls other than reports on which configurations they've previously picked, but there are other options listed that the Overseer apparently hadn't seen fit to reveal.

More bets were made, with the team that had volunteered expecting to find something like a series of tunnels. They're correct in a small sense, as there is a passage hidden under the desk, but the guesses fall short of what's truly underneath.

Dials.

In one row of three, and one row of four.

Each dial is the top row of three is labelled with "1440," "60," and "15" as options. The bottom row of four dials has "1," "2," "3," and "4". Currently, the top three are turned to "60," "1440," and "15" respectively. The bottom four are set to "4," "3," "1," and "2."

The handful of volunteers review this in to realize that this is where the configurations were actually made. The terminal upstairs was a log of the choices, but these were the true inputs.

There's another terminal in this secret room that lists instructions intended for the Overseer's eyes. They explain how the vault will be sealed for the next forty years. There are timelines strewn across various files, but after piecing it together, it's clear what they've been brought here to do:

The first ten years will be spent letting residents freely choose a combination of scan intervals and hallway positions. Every year after this will impose new restrictions. They've been introduced to one of them already: a combination can only be repeated once. But there are more to come, and they're chosen at random from a pre-made list of Vault-Tec options.

In fact, the next cycle's restriction has already been identified: any obstructions found in one hall will trigger a full flush of all halls. The condition for this was having activated the Resident Assistance Mode. There are other restrictions with their own conditions; the Overseer is meant to update the terminal with other choices the residents make to grow the pool of new possible disasters.

It's the Overseer looked so well-fed and healthy. It wasn't anything to do with traversing the halls. The perk of the job was just knowing when it was time to stock up on supplies.

Supplies that, they remember, are meant to last for twenty years.

Assuming everybody shares, of course.

Assuming everybody survives.

When the month ends and the Overseer's supplies are reclaimed, and the Overseer is cleared from the hall, there's a new tension within the vault that follows them like an endless hum. It's the sound of decisions and priorities, of reorganization and reallocation, and of hard truths and deaf ears.

Centuries later, a small group finds and opens the vault to explore. While it's odd that every room is hidden behind claustrophobic and twisting hallways, it's odder how clean each hall is - compared to the frail corpses they find alone in beds, or the great Xs marked at the other end of halls that would have led to them.

If part of this group hadn't been burned to a crisp after taking too long to get through - just 15 minutes, only because someone's buckle was caught on a barbed ladder rung - they would've been able to explore the rest.

They would've found an armed group seemingly trapped at the farthest end of the vault, blasted with holes and ripped to pieces, as if some had been turned into food for the others by force. One would have been tied up and left in a corner, as if in punishment , and as if it had died first. As if it died before the others in that room realized they still needed to eat.

They would've also found the Overseer's office with three bodies huddled together, with enough supplies to have kept them alive for weeks.

Last, they would have found the hidden room with its two rows of dials. The dials themselves would appear to have been snapped off, and the claw marks around them would have suggested that this had not been the plan. According to the terminal, the final options selected were all either "15" or "4". It was as if someone hadn't known which dials corresponded to each option, and realized too late that the answer couldn't be changed midway through.

They wouldn't have known if only there had only ever been three bodies in that office, or if others had tried to make their own journey.

Instead of exploring, instead of finding any of this, the remaining group of wasteland explorers retreat and set up a sign saying the halls are deadly. "You have 15 minutes," the signs might say.

After that, it'd be up to whoever still thought it was worth the effort to venture inside.

#fallout #vault tec #vault idea #accessibility #disability #confinement #horror #my stuff #good job tartra #i'll add tags as i think of them too #ableism

[systemdump]

silent hill 3: a retrospective on horror ambience

I haven't written a game review in a while now, not since I shared my thoughts on Stray's narrative. I have been busy with very boring real-world things resulting in me not having the time to indulge too much in games. Sure I've played some (Marvel's Spider-man, Resident Evil 2, Silent Hill 3, and some GTAV). Along with being preoccupied -- and maybe as a consequence -- I haven't been able to experience that sink-your-teeth-in-up-until-four-am gaming motivation that I desperately seek. Usually, to me, that's what my brain constitutes as a good game. If you can keep me playing until my eyeballs burn in their sockets, then take my money. This ramble is relevant, trust me.

I completed Resident Evil 2 (review soon?) I had a thirst for more classic horror. And where else to look than the Silent series. I've always heard, as a relatively new generation when it comes to gaming, that Silent Hill 2 is the epitome of the genre. Although this will be my next play, I wanted to experience 3 instead. Maybe it was the character of Heather that intrigued me. A female protagonist in a classic horror game? I was interested. I watched some lore videos from the first instalment to cover me for this playthrough and dove in.

I finished the game in around 8 hours. I played one big chunk of 6 all in one go. I was determined to navigate the confusing labyrinth of PS2 camera angles and lagging emulation. Many people relate when they say playing older games considered classics is a 'slog'. And yes, I agree to some extent. We have become so accustomed to uncapped FPS and raytraced puddles that we get mad when they are snatched from our clinging fingers (Spider-man downgrade jab intended). But to appreciate a game for what it was for its time, for what it is now, is fundamental to experiencing a series like Silent Hill. When I descended into the otherworld and approached more and more mind-fucking creatures, I realised that games, in their entirety, are not always what we see directly in front of us.

When I became more accustomed to those strange camera angles I began to appreciate the vision. They were cinematic. Konami had a vision and because I had gen z goggles taped over my eyes, I was taking it at face value. Every placement was intentional. It was to set the specific tone for the moment. It is something that lacks in modern over-the-shoulder shooters. The dank atmosphere, the rotting walls, the moaning and sobbing in the long, winding hallways. My very core felt... uneasy. Like this game was bad -- not in the sense that I was hating the experience, but that I was doing something wrong by playing it. Maybe it was the grainy overlay they put over the screen, giving it this very-found footage vibe. Almost like I wasn't meant to be seeing this story. Cement this with the PS2 graphics that, on their own, are eerie. The entire experience was unsettling.

What's more, is that without the score, Silent Hill would be less of a scare. There's something about the booming and banging, the building music that never gives. There's no jump scare, no screech and tension break. It continues to build. It doesn't give you what you desperately want. It subverts your expectation of the genre that we have so readily accepted. Cheap screamers that make you scream for a fraction of a second with the instant relief that follows it. The pounding of your heart in your chest is more tangible because now your focus is lost, you realise how anti-climactic of a tactic it is. With Silent Hill, there's no constitution of a jumpscare. You're lost in a sea of apprehension.

Because of this, after I finished Silent Hill 3, I could. not. stop. thinking. about. it. There was a lingering feeling akin to unsteady footing. I couldn't grasp what had thrown me so significantly. I wasn't scared. I didn't scream or jump during my playthrough. I didn't wince when a monster chased me. If anything, I was more focused on trying to find all the fucking maps. But when I finished this game, I was blown away. As I mentioned before, I played Resident Evil 2 remake prior to this and whilst I experienced butt-clenching chase sequences with Mr X, there were no retrospective feelings about the ambience. Sure, the game is visually stunning in its own right, but there was something about this janky old-gen game.

The atmosphere of Silent Hill is very distinct. It's not cut and dry by any means; it has been replicated by every horror game proceeding it. Maybe that's why it's so memorable. It is something we recognise. But when executed so precisely by the very masters that conjured it, you can't help but think about it for days after.

Silent Hill 3 isn't a masterpiece. It isn't the best instalment. It's not the best game I've played. But I've never sat with a game's creative direction and truly considered its intentions like this. This game was the first to accomplish this, and all it took was some confusing fucking camera angles.

#chloe reviews #silent hill 3

[screechthemighty]

What if I just had Luis also be alive in the Ethan Lives AU with zero explanation, what then

#who else should be spared #screech is bad at resident evil #I pretty much spent half the day playing it yesterday lol

[en-chantedslibrary]

Dreams

I very seldom discuss the matters that take place in my dreams, for I rarely dream. But tonight, I find that writing the peculiar sequence of events of my subconsciousness may help me come to a resolution of these extraordinary happenings. I cannot quite fathom it. It feels as if my dream was reality, that the unending hallways were for all intents and purposes, real. The water-stained wallpaper peeling off the walls, the damp carpet containing a foul odour that wafted up into my nose, it all felt as if I was standing there, no longer in my bedroom but in an alternate version of the manor I have been residing in the past few months, the unsettling oil paintings no longer hung from the walls, there were no grand chandeliers lighting the hallways. There were no rooms. It was as if it was a maze with no ending. I had only a small wax candle to light my way. And it was burning out quickly. The wax was dripping down my trembling fingers, leaving streaks of white down my hands, burning my skin with every drip. The flame would flicker and dance until it reached the last centimetre of wax. Then the light went out and I was left in all-consuming darkness.

I then awoke to see my hand gripped around an unlit candle, standing in my hallway. My throat raw from the screeching. The maids were gathered around me, and my father stood with disapproving eyes.

Moments later I am whisked off to my chambers and locked inside.

My father- the psychiatrist- has a few theories as to why I find myself in peculiar situations such as that one. He assumes I am either experiencing hysteria or schizophrenia. His solution is to pump my veins with sulphur to induce mind-breaking fevers to sweat out this horrible affliction. He thinks its working. It’s making it worse. Much worse.

After a brutal battle with my locked bedroom door, I find myself curled up in the corner of my room, clutching my still throbbing arm. He’s put something bad in me. I know it. I know he has flushed out my blood and replaced it with oozing and crawling maggots. He is not the rational man I thought him to be. He is working against me. Some evil spirits have convinced him that he must strip me of my humanity, but I won’t let him. I won’t let him. I won’t let him.

The maids return, wipe the cold sweat off my back and settle me into my bed. The room is shrouded in darkness; my eyes are darting around the room so quickly, just to catch a glimpse of something- anything.

Then I see it.

A dark figure. I do not recognise the form and begin to panic. It doesn’t walk, it glides and morphs along the walls, contorting its disfigured body- if body is even the right term for it. Long wisps of golden hair trail down its face, masking any features that would allow me to identify this entity. I am enveloped with an overwhelming sensation of dread. Its legs kick and I can hear the crack and grinding of its bones. The deep and loud breaths coming from it oppose my own short and panicked ones. It crawls up the wardrobe, onto the chandelier, and it stays there, perched and swinging from the ceiling. I know now that I am not dreaming. This is real and I’m going to die. The beast swings more and more chaotically and I am stuck here. I cannot move. I cannot scream. I cannot do anything.

Then it leaps. And is now tearing into my skin, shredding my leg into pieces, to find and feast on the creatures that my father planted into my skin. I let out a blood curdling shriek, reach for a candle and light it. There is no creature. And there are no maggots. All that remains of the nightmare is the deep scratches on my legs.

My father continued his ‘treatment’ after this, pumping my body with chemicals I could not seem to pronounce. The splitting headaches, the cold sweats and fevers they caused only seemed to fuel the demons’ rampage on my mind and soul; every night without fail I would have the displeasure of beasts of all kinds rip their way into my skin, searching for something. They never found what they were looking for; unless they were tearing me apart and mutilating my body for the sole purpose of torture. Whatever it was, I detested it. I hated the metallic smell of blood; I hated the white-hot fire that I felt in my body when they would plunge their claws deep into my abdomen but what I despised the most was the nights that contained only silence.

 There was no pain, no cracking and grinding of bones, no squelching of my organs being moved around the cavity of my abdomen; there was only the muffled thumping of my heart, as if it was trying to escape my chest because the silence is the most petrifying thing. Silence is always followed by faces. I was never sure if these faces were real or just a figment of my disturbed imagination. They would have sunken features or a complete lack of them. Some would have large deformities – one had only a single and miniscule eye- no eyes and no mouth or nose, only a void. One I would stare into while its one eye looked back into my soul. He emitted an uncomfortable energy that made my skin feel filthy and as if his faceless void was expanding and taking over my body. One had a large smile- abnormally large- and he would just smile at me; his teeth and gums fully exposed and eyes looking in fear at me- as if I was disturbing him. The faces never spoke. They never breathed, or emitted a single noise to signify they were alive. I would often close my eyes and wait for them to leave but the images of their deformed faces were burned into my brain. There was no escape from the faces no matter how many candles I lit.

One significant night, I was met by silence. I sat there, curled into a ball with my head between my knees, eyes closed and waiting for the faces to taunt me yet again. But I was met with nothing. The silence was slowly occupied by a low hum. The hums would become quiet melodies, and then become loud and comforting hymns. I slowly moved from my position, and opened my eyes in trepidation.

There were no faces, or creatures of unimaginable terror. Only seven figures stood around my bed. They were ethereal, with beautiful locks of brown cascading down their head, or tied up in magnificent plaits wrapped around their heads. They had beautiful wings that shielded my bed from darkness and they radiated a soft candle-like glow from them. Their voices acted like a symphony that made my eyes fuzzy with tears. They were standing guard around me, protecting me from the nightmares. My angels, Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, Uriel, Saraqael, Raguel, and Remiel. I was lulled peacefully to sleep from the chants of the angels. The last thing I saw was my angels edging closer towards me, as if they were going to hold me close to keep me safe.

I didn’t have another dream for a few months after this. My father assumed that the doses of sulphur has rid me of my illness, I was normal; well as normal as I could be after these mind-altering experiences.

I now find myself laying on the glass in the meadow by the manor. I thought my last entry was to be my final account of these visions. But I now see the sun has morphed into interlocking rings of gold, and a colossal eye sprouting hundreds of grand white wings all around sits comfortably inside its golden cage. The sound of crackling fire emits from it, and I hear a voice in my mind; “be not afraid” and I know now, that these nightmares I have been experiencing were not nightmares at all, but visions from God.

#short stroy #creative writing #original story #original writing #writing #gothic horror #horror stories

[mikittalabs]

aggh my brain's back on its bullshit again and i've decided to screech into the aether instead of my sister's dms lol. think i ranted about this friend of mine in the tags of a post i reblogged a week or so ago but i think he can have his own post now </3.

it's going under the cut because i'd feel bad if this post just showed up on someone's dashboard or something

so like i've realized i've put more of myself into this friendship than he ever has and gotten pretty much nothing out of it. and it'd be so easy to just block and leave but i've known this guy since i was like a couple months old and i'm 20 now.

like i've bought games he's recommended and played them with him, i've learned fighting games so i could play with him, i drew a stupid meme for his streams, i'm like his only twitch mod, i've talked about resident evil and fire emblem gameplay with him.

recently, i realized he does like none of that for me. he ignored my recommendation to play sephonie, he said mutant mayhem looked dumb, i doubt he's watched nimona, he's basically left me on read when i talked about resident evil lore or tmnt. i've mentioned my interest in writing and drawing in his streams and he's never shown any interest except for that meme i drew (this one).

apparently he's been outright ignoring anything my sis has said to him that doesn't interest him for years now and i just never noticed.

he's just kinda started venting in my dms 3 times now unprompted in the past 6 months. 2 of those times i tried my hardest to give whatever advice i could think of, i don't think he listened to any of it. the third time was recently after i like, opened my eyes to his bullshit. i just didn't respond, it's not like he would've listened. i felt so gross ignoring him the 3rd time.

so why. am i still so conflicted about it. like i came to this conclusion maybe a month ago now. i've backed away from his streams and i feel bad. if he texts me, i feel bad. if i think about him, i get mad, but if i ignore him, i'm mad at myself. trapped between a rock and a hard place and i'm doing the thing my other friends and family have told me to do.

i have a headache. my chest fucking hurts. i'm pretty sure i've been on the verge of dissociating this week. everything feels fuzzy. i don't even know what emotions i'm experiencing right now.

#vent tw #delete later??? idk man #don't feel obligated to do anything about this #i know how venting on the internet is #he just texted me on discord saying he was live and my heart rate increased #and not in a fun way #like cool great brain i'm so glad we are in agreement about this situation #i probably sound insane now #fuckin #whatever

[thelightningthatjumpsbetween]

Thirty Nine

RE8 | Wintersberg | Romance, Slow Burn | Action, Sci-Fi

Sequel of Winters and the Beast, a Resident Evil: Village Story

Table Of Contents

Donna walked with Rose partially to shush her; she knew pacing and bouncing were ways to quiet babies, but also because she wanted to keep an eye on the events, if at all possible.  And those tall second-story windows were made for looking out of.  A windstorm swept over the mansion and most of what she saw was thanks to intermittent flashes of lightning.  The wind howled around the structure.  

Rose was not impressed by the rocking and pacing, and was crying still.  Salvatore had gone to get an array of snacks and peace offerings from a cupboard downstairs; would Ethan balk if he knew they were trying to give his toddler crackers at 2 in the morning?  Maybe, but probably not.  

When Moreau reappeared, his desperate, simpering mannerisms seemed to agitate Rose further.  She flung her arms out, but begrudgingly grabbed an apple slice and bit into it, her cries subsiding into furious grunts.  “Now she sounds like Karl,” Donna mused with a hint of a smile.  

Salvatore brushed a shaky hand over the child’s curls, his uncertain expression melting into admiration.  

“Karl!” He answered Donna with saucer-wide eyes.  “He was…steaming mad!”

“I really thought she was going to hit him,” Donna muttered quietly as Rose demanded more food, which Uncle Sal dutifully supplied.  The still-angry toddler said something in a babble, some command, and pointed toward the room’s corner.  He glanced, but then answered Donna, “Or he was going to hit her.” 

The young-looking woman sighed, and patted the older man’s hand, which was covered with chewed-nails and peeling skin-anxiety-related, for maybe the first time in a thousand years.  “Sal…look at us.  What are we doing?”

“G-getting a..a…second chance?” he said, in an almost apologetic way.  “Helping.” 

“It just feels so surreal.” 

“Is it bad, Donna?”

“No.  It just feels lonely.  I hate fighting, I hate…whatever this is.  Remember the old festivals?  The parties we had.  Remember when the villagers would come together, build a new barn?  Or host a market.  Even though…no one from the outside ever came.  It still felt like…”

“Like a place, not a…a…hole in the ground.  Simple.  Happy some moments.” 

“There are things I miss, even as awful as it was.  We did have happy moments.” 

“Maybe there is time for more happy moments.”  

“I hope so.  Salvatore.  I’m so sorry for…never…I never…I gave you no voice.  Angie was so cruel to you, just as cruel as the others.  I take responsibility.” 

Rose was arguing with this sentence as she took more food and now distinctly pointed at the cabinet, but the adults were still deep in conversation, still staring out the window with a hope of seeing something, having some clue about where the others had gone, what had happened.  Crashes and screeches were the only clues.  

“It’s all right,” he said in a very shaky voice.  “Do you want to know something funny?  The meanest.  It wasn’t Angie, it wasn’t Alcina.  Not-not even the villagers who saw me when they were fishing, and they threw rocks and sometimes shot at me.” 

Her sympathetic stare was the question, and he answered with a trembling lip.  “The meanest…was Mother-Mother-Miranda,” the words were choked out, “... always.  She hated me…the more I changed, the more she hated me.” 

Donna stayed silent, but dipped her head toward his.  He was a few inches shorter than her, and he patted her on the back when she leaned in for the embrace.  Though she was silent, the two were aware enough of their emotions for him to intuit her thoughts.  She had already known that.  She watched it, after all. 

When Rose shrieked, causing them both to jump, and pointed again at the closet door, Donna sighed.  “All right, little one, let’s listen to you now.”  She held out the toddler to Moreau, who looked shocked.  

“You…you’d trust me? To…?”

With an encouraging look, Donna handed over the child, who was still babbling at the closet.  Donna approached it cautiously, her hands drawn up to her chest, plucking at her black nightgown’s collar in a nervous gesture.  Salvatore was staring in awe, as though he couldn’t imagine what Donna might find.  He didn’t even protest when Rose stuck one of her carrot slices into his mouth, he just chewed, enraptured.  

“The only thing here is this,” Donna said in confusion, slipping her hands around a heavy, large, dark purple stone.  It weighed in her hands as she lifted it.  “It feels…strange.” 

“Be safe,” Moreau said in a stutter, clutching Rose.  A new sound came from nearby, shocking them both again, and they jumped at the clicking keys of a typewriter.  It sat on a high shelf.  Donna laughed nervously and sat the crystal back down.  “Look at us, acting so scared.  No wonder they left us here.” 

“I-I’m sure you could be more scary, with your flowers,” he said reassuringly, and Donna dipped her head at the compliment.  

“I’d rather not,” she acknowledged, and then approached the typewriter, which had ceased its ghost typing.  “What could this be?”

When Salvatore had no answer, Donna reached up and plucked the paper out of the machine.  

TAKE CRYSTAL TO ETHAN 

TELL HIM, GODRIC SAYS – 

SHE HAS HUMANITY TOO

“Godric!” Donna exclaimed, remembering the way that Eva and Ethan had exploded onto the floor after disappearing, had needed hours to come down from whatever experience they’d had.  She only heard some of the details from Eva.  She read the note aloud to Moreau, and then glanced at the shelf.  

“Do you think it’s a trick?”

He shrugged.  “Ethan would want to know,” he acknowledged.  

“How do I get there?”

“Maybe…maybe you can travel the way Eva does?” 

Donna sauntered to the crystal; she picked it up again, holding it in one hand, the typewritten note in another.  

“I’m afraid I’ll get lost.  Ethan seems to have poor luck when he…”

Salvatore made a strangled noise at the window.  He pointed, and Donna ran, looking at the horizon for the worst-case scenario.  But there was nothing to see, other than a faraway white blur….headlights?  And the resonant screeches and thumps.  Sal was pointing downward.  “A loose horse!  Is that–”

“Ronin!”  Salvatore had plenty of stabling experience, even though most horses shied away from him in his later years.  He’d known this particular horse a very long time, perhaps over a century now.  “But where is the carriage?  He has no harness, no collar.” 

“Perhaps the Duke is camped nearby…We can return him later, but this feels like fate,” she said excitedly, grabbing her loose hair and twisting it into a haphazard braid.  She tied it with a piece of string from her nightgown.  Rose was now chattering happily, seeming to realize the message had been conveyed.  Donna looked around the room hopefully, and saw an old-fashioned cloak draped over a nail–it had likely been there for a century.  She cringed, thankful at least for her rain boots, as she pulled the moth-eaten grey fabric around her shoulders.  It had no hood, and she sighed in frustration.  

Moreau bit his lip.  “You think—you want me to go instead?  You watch Rose?”

Donna’s eyes were wide.  “I…I think I need to do this,” she said in a voice brimming with fear, “And besides, you know I’m the better rider.” 

In fact she was a very accomplished rider, and had an almost unnatural way with the large animals.  Maybe it was because they shared similar traits; shyness, a love of quiet, a habit of attracting unwanted attention from others, and palpable inner strength, all traits that were ignored when it came time for work.  Salvatore nodded wistfully, remembering the glory of the former days when Donna regularly rode.  Before her cadou.  Unfortunately, by then, he’d already begun to look relatively grotesque.  Their acquaintance was made mostly by moonlight, simply because he feared scaring her.  

She left in a flurry of grey cloak, and he watched from the window as the horse stood expectantly outside, stamping at the ground.  Several minutes passed and the dark form of the woman appeared, wrapped in the cloak, a large satchel across her shoulder containing what, apparently, Ethan needed.  

Salvatore and Rose both watched, mesmerized, as Donna approached the buckskin in a gentle, yet urgent way.  Moments later she’d somehow scrambled on his bare back, and without reins, grabbed the horse’s mane and urged him forward with the faintest of nudges.  

Since there was no light around, she disappeared on the road almost immediately, and Salvatore held his breath as he continued to seek the dark night for clues about what was happening.  Rose yawned, content in his arms, and he beamed when he realized she would go back to sleep soon.  

—-----

Ethan and Karl were flanking the creature, Ethan making use of the rifle and Karl still gleefully flinging metal toward it.  Alcina was entirely overwhelmed by the sight of these two working in unison against…well… her .  She gazed at the monster with something between disgust and pity.  This had been her legacy?  When she’d first transformed, Alcina was horrified, despite having already degenerated into murder many times over.  She never wanted to be a freak, never wanted to be anything but grace personified.  Instead, she’d become this thing, and Miranda had been delighted.  

Well, eventually.  At first the religious leader was stunned; she wanted to study the transformation, wanted samples.  She seemed jealous, almost, and had remarked about the great power within Alcina afterward.  Eventually Miranda warmed to the idea that her adopted daughter had an even larger, even more terrifying presence.  Alcina had always hoped, believed, after that, that she had won favor.  

So much for that, she thought bitterly.  

In truth, for all of Ethan’s energy and the promise that things were ‘lovely’, Alcina had no desire to be here.  She was wet, cold, barefoot, and she had no one.  Her daughters were gone.  She had no one else, never had…and of all the final insults, Karl damned Heisenberg was here, creating a larger-than-life magnetic field and wielding an electric hammer as if to add one more insult to the pain.  She contemplated leaving Ethan’s side and waltzing forward toward the beast, ending them both.  

Ending them all, perhaps.  Who cared?

She took a steadying breath.  She could bolt.  It was only perhaps one hundred feet away.  There was nothing that either man could do to stop her.  Right? They might not even try.  Ethan wanted her to do this. 

A loud, bone-rattling thunderclap sounded, and Heisenberg stumbled backwards as his field fell; he put a hand to his head as if he’d been struck.  The trio did not have to look far for the source of the sound; a black hole appeared within the pitch black of the night, and a form stepped out of it.  Heisenberg’s hammer was ringing as he built back up another field, his eyes darting between the woman in front of them, the beast stalking the treeline, and the truck, behind everyone.  

“She really here, Ethan?”

“No,” he said angrily, the wind stinging his eyes as he only barely lowered the rifle.  He could sense that she was more…tangible, than she’d been during the ceremony.  He could probably touch her, but she couldn’t touch them.  “No, she doesn’t have a body.”  

“Not yet,” Miranda agreed, her voice a hiss, like a snake.  She ignored Karl as she usually did and strode instead toward Ethan.  He raised the gun and his frown returned, as the truck creaked independently behind him.  “But I will, soon, Ethan.” 

He fired a round; it went past her, and Karl stepped even farther back, trying to juggle whatever the hell it was he was trying to do.  Alcina paused in her suicide mission, wondering if she could take out her tormentor.  She drew herself up haughtily despite standing in the rain in a nightdress.  Miranda, however, only had eyes for Ethan. 

The beast roared, and suddenly the truck they’d arrived in soared over their heads, groaning as it was hurled by the engineer at the creature.  It ripped apart midair, a purposeful act by Karl; Alcina saw fluid spraying from the carcass of his beloved vehicle.   In another moment he’d struck the broken, twisted parts of metal with a carefully aimed (was that possible?) lightning bolt; the gasoline ignited in a fury, lighting the field-and the creature-as it screamed.  Alcina’s voice echoed from it, cursing Heisenberg.  

“You have learned something…something which I need to know,” Miranda said hollowly to Ethan, ignoring the general chaos behind her.  “I sensed it earlier.  You have been near its resting place.” 

“ It ?” He thought of the man made of ice, the sarcophagus with the strange crystal.  

Her eyes lit up.  Goddammit, could literally anybody stay out of his fucking head? 

“Yes, Ethan, that’s it,” she said in another hiss, drawing even nearer.  The dragon yelped, downed for a moment, on fire.  Karl pulled the hammer back.  “Think of it.  The location of the damned.  Where is it?”

He knew better.  He glared at her, thinking of the kind Miranda stranded somewhere in the consciousness.  Then he thought of Alcina’s pale arm catching moonlight.  He thought of Karl’s ass in those cargo pants, in fact, thought of Karl’s ass in several other compromising positions.  Miranda’s face twisted into an expression of rage.  

“Fuck you,” he answered, and thought of Mia’s long, brown hair in the Texas sunlight.   Ethan grasped the rifle in his right hand and drew his left back.  He remembered the night of the ceremony, how the white showers of sparks had left Eva’s crystallized palm and hit Miranda right in the chest.  His anger outweighed any curiosity he might have had about her next movement, and he could only hope his own attempt was as powerful.  

When he emptied every ounce of anger into the throw, a shower of golden sparks erupted and blinded everyone, blazing more brightly than Karl’s gasoline lightning trick.  The Lord, and his sibling, shielded their eyes as Miranda flew back into the darkness, disappearing.  Her wail of rage faded, and Alcina stared at the black-eyed father with a new sense of admiration.  

“Karl, look out!” Eva appeared in the fray, pushing the engineer away as another form stumbled into reality directly behind her.  At first, Ethan was confused, but then he realized who was wielding the familiar sword.  Karl yanked the air and the blade almost left the man’s hands, and both laughed.  The same laugh.  That beautiful laugh.  

“It’s Heisenberg’s twin,” he explained breathlessly to a very sick-looking Alcina.  She watched the pair of brothers as they sparred, putting on a show of loud insults as they had last time.  Her voice was full of despondent sarcasm.  “There are two of him?  This is surely hell, curated to my specifications.” 

Ethan snorted and then abruptly pulled her behind him.  Miranda had reappeared, and a gaping, black-bleeding hole was in her abdomen.  But she straightened, with effort.  “I will take what is due,” she spat.  “If I have to tear that eyesore of a building down, stone by stone, then I shall.”

Alcina shoved Ethan aside and he nearly toppled over, not anticipating her strength.  He would need to reload soon; he cautiously let her take the lead as he aimed for the dragon-like beast.  

“How could you do this to me?  Using my own mutation…use me, in this way?”  Alcina’s long arm gestured to the screeching, wounded Remnant.  The Heisenberg brothers, probably purposely, danced around it, some of their blows landing near or on it.  It was spinning, twisting, trying to follow them as they taunted each other in German.  Karl continually tried to yank the metal sword away from his phantom brother.  

Miranda narrowed her eyes.  “Had you been looking through the castle properly, you would have found it.  I gave you that task many years ago.” 

“You gave me nothing but tasks!  Meaningless, idle!  I couldn’t live, I couldn’t leave! You made me a monster and then locked me away.  And now you have taken my power, the only thing I had left, and turned it into a mockery.” 

Miranda looked bored.  Ethan took the opportunity to reload.  

“Your power? I gave you everything.  This,” Miranda’s golden-claw-covered hand swept toward the monster.  “This is my legacy, my creation.  This beast was owed to me.  Now I can control it, as was meant to be.” 

Ethan considered winding up another golden spark ball.  He was getting pretty sick of listening to this shit, and as he fired another round at the beast, he wondered if bullets were even affecting it.  Was it here ?  Was it between realms, like Miranda?  Perhaps she’d purposely made it that way.  Unkillable.  Ah, fuck.  Fuck.  

If this is what one fragment did, he didn’t want to see what the whole thing could do.  

Ethan shrugged the rifle over his shoulder, putting it away, having realized that it was useless.  Then again, the whole crystal was a part of his beautiful, wonderful daughter.  That’s what the whole thing could do.  He smiled to himself.  To Alcina, he said, “Don’t listen to her, she’s just trying to piss you off.  Make you as miserable as she is.” 

Eva suddenly appeared again, feet away from Miranda, and scolded, “Look at this destruction.  What would you even do with a daughter if you had one?” 

He’d never heard her speak directly to Miranda.  Eva’s voice was shaky, and angry, hurt, in a way that Ethan had never heard before.  Both he and Alcina stared at the exchange.  Miranda looked confused, then annoyed.  Before she could answer, Eva had repeated Ethan’s move; her palms came upward, and a bolt of white energy and sparks erupted from her hands.  Miranda barely had time to cry out, enraged again, as her ephemeral form disappeared.  For the moment.  

When Eva turned to look at him, he saw a trace of misery on her usually placid face.  But then she smiled sadly.  “I suppose you know too.  I just realized…the creature…it is not…”

“Karl,” Ethan yelled across the field, “We can’t hurt it.”

“Like hell,” came the loud reply from somewhere in the dark.  

“No, I mean…we can’t KILL it…it’s like Miranda, it’s not fully here on this plane.” 

“You got a formula for pullin’ a solid’ bein’ outta a big bitch dragon, Winters?”

Jochen’s laugh resonated, an echo of his brother’s.  Alcina rolled her eyes.  

“No,” Ethan called dismally.  

“Maybe blast it with your fist like you did her a minute ago, that was cool,” one of the Heisenbergs called.  When they yelled, their accents melded, and he couldn’t tell one voice from the other.  

A strange noise sounded from behind them.  Hoof beats.  It couldn’t be.  Ethan was almost afraid to turn around simply because he didn’t want the night to get stranger.  It was going to turn into a Monty Python sketch, he was convinced.  It would be someone banging coconuts together.  

But he was compelled to slowly look, expecting something else terrible to appear instead of his preferred coconuts.

It was Donna, atop a thick draught horse, clutching a bag in her hands.  

“Ethan!” she said wildly, sliding off the horse as Eva ran toward her, grabbing her protectively.  Despite the very large, very deadly mutated dragon creature sixty feet away, the horse was calm, simply shaking his mane as she dismounted.  

“Donna, what the fuck?”

“Read this,” she said wordlessly, fumbling for a folded up paper in the bag.  

#resident evil village

[suhailmajeed]

The Accident

It was the day when Aasif got his license. It was 9:00 P.M in the evening, the air was misty, freezing and dark, and the streets lights were barely on. The streets were deserted and empty as if no one existed. It felt as if we were the only people in this city. There was a feeling of freedom but then something evil began to take its place, we decided to race. Even though the road was bumpy and uneven, the race seemed like a brilliant idea. Speeding up to 110kmph we did not care about anything except going faster. It was fun and as far as I can recall, I was really enjoying it. Until the moment I turned my head to the right and saw Aasif pointing with a smile, “better keep up boy” he said, this picture kept playing in my head constantly; at that very instant I felt the something wrong was about to happen. With fear I reduced my speed; just before I began slowing down, I heard a bang Aasif’s car had flipped over, and the screech of grinding metal filled the empty streets. I used all my force to stop the car and get out. As the front wheel spun freely and oil was dripping to the ground, shards of the glass and other debris littered the crash.My heart was beating rapidly, and my mind felt as if it was frozen. I rushed towards the car and saw Aasif struggling with pain as cold as death itself screaming for help; his face was covered with blood and his hand was stuck behind his back. He was jammed in a very awkward position. I tried to help, and kept trying until I realized my help was not sufficient I needed more hands. Thinking of whom to call, I knew the best thing at that time was to try to keep him calm. I quickly dialed Aasif’s residence. I called five times and every time the answering machine went on. Frustrating and panic filled my head. I then dialed my another friends . Thankfully, they were there in five minutes, but those five minutes felt like years. Watching Ali struggle with pain was disturbing; I felt helpless and desperately wanted this situation to end.

Aasif was finally dragged out of the car and was rushed to the Hospital; his condition was bad because too much blood had been lost. I finally got through to Aasifs parents. After an hour inside the emergency room the doctors were finally out, and what I was about to hear was something that changed my life. His spinal chord had broken. The doctors believed that he might not be able to walk. This was a very sad moment; his mother was crying hysterically, I still remember her saying “no, no, no this cant be.” Mr. Lone was constantly trying to comfort her, and she looked at me and shook her head with disappointment. At that very moment I felt that it was all because of me. I felt that I was not mature enough or responsible enough. I felt I had betrayed his parents; his mother always used to tell me to look after Aasif. She thought I was the responsible one; it was hard to stand even a second there of her stare.

Aasif was not the same; we never hung out the way we used to. He was quiet and lost in his thoughts, and whenever I went to his house, he would tell his mother that he didn’t want to meet me. He used to sit at home crying with disappointment when his attempt to walk failed. Every time I looked at him the picture of the crash kept playing in my head and his struggle to walk and his depression made me feel guilty every time I saw him. Eventually a gap started developing, and soon Aasif’s isolation made him feel that I was the sole reason for this accident.

I used to wonder if I am or ever will be same the person I used to be. He made a difference in my life by always being there for me and caring about me. I used to be a happy and optimistic person. My closest friend Aasif made a major impact on my life; it was a major shock; that guy used to be my best friend; we hung out together; we were partners and did almost everything together. This accident that was an act of immaturity, caused an event because of which I not only lost a friend, but a great person who was also a good athlete lose his legs. The worst part is that he still feels it’s all because of me. His suspetition made a big impact on my life; I used to doubt myself and my ability to make friends. I got so afraid that sometimes I didn’t even feel like tracing and locating him because I feel that even if I try to clarify myself it won’t make a big difference; I stayed quiet most of the time and getting along with people wasn’t my thing, I think it was all because I was conscious and I feared that I might end up hurting someone else. Through all of these thoughts and feelings, an annoying voice in the back of my head kept making feel that something could be wrong, that something or somewhere I must have gone wrong.

Now four years have passed and I have no Idea of what Aasif is up to, I never called nor I ever received a call from him, but now my views have changed. The car accident is and will always be a major moment in my life, it made me realize that God has a plan for every one and there is a hidden message behind everything. I had a great friend and probably best times in my life. Our life changes every second, this accident made me realize to value every single moment has as if it was my last, because it’s really difficult to predict when it all will be over.