My name is Nico ( 19 and my pronouns are he/they) but I also go by Orpheus. I finally decided to join again after like 6 years of thinking about doing it!! Even though I originally rejoined for a different fandom, it was really only a matter of time before I made it a Persona acc.
I'm autistic and often too shy to interact. Asks and general questions are always okay though. I'll warm up to interaction eventually...? Maybe?
I write and I make OCs!! I'll definitely be posting my Persona and Twisted Wonderland OCs here, along with some fics if I can get my shit together.
My current interests are (⭐ = sp. interest) : Persona 3-5 ⭐, Bloodborne ⭐, Kingdom Hearts, Vanitas no Carte ⭐, Twisted Wonderland ⭐
DNI if you: Fit basic DNI criteria (homophobic, transphobic, racist, sexist, proshipper, you get it), you support Mihoyo/Hoyoverse, you refuse to use tone indicators/make your post more readable when I ask, and you complain about games you haven't even researched.
I wanted to try my hand at posting fics here too, so take this Resident Evil OC fic (the prologue, at least). Y'all like OCs here, right??? Feedback is appreciated, but be kind about it pretty please.
Word Count: 2k (2,053)
Summary: Bored out of his mind at a slumber party, Shiloh Graves finds himself thinking about all the what ifs. To clear his mind, he decides to take a walk into town. What he finds there just happens to ruin his life permanently.
AKA "What if there was another survivor of Raccoon City?" or "What if someone had to trek the game in reverse?"
TWs are in tags, but also it's usual Resident Evil stuff I think. I don't plan to put anything in here that isn't in Resident Evil.
September 13th, 1993.
"Shut up!"
"No, you shut up!"
Shiloh leans his head back on the arm of the couch he's been slouching on for the past hour, uninterested in listening to the nauseating sound of his friends’ gossiping. They've been talking forever, more interested in sharing what has been going on in their school lives than anything he has to add. It doesn't bother him, no, but it does bore him. Despite being treated as 'one of the girls', he doesn’t care for gossip. He quit interjecting the second he lost interest.
Spreading rumors is for losers anyway.
Sleepovers are supposed to be fun. When he was younger, they were about staying up as late as possible and playing games– doing things you can’t do at school. Now, it’s all school. It’s who likes who, which classes suck, and what they’re going to do after it’s all over. It’s about drifting apart.
Sitting out on the conversation is forcing him to realize that it might be better if they do. As they grow together, the more they grow apart and no one seems to fit together anymore. Even his friends on the floor are going to go home later, and not speak for weeks. It took the promise of pizza to get them to be here in the first place. He’s just trying to enjoy it while it lasts.
To do that, he has to distract himself.
The popcorn ceiling above him doesn't make for a good occupation though. He squints to make sense of the pattern. If he stares hard enough, he can see through to the original ceiling...and that's how he knows he's bored beyond comparison. Maybe he should get up. There’s got to be something else to do since this isn’t working.
However, it’s far past his curfew. This means there’s no touching the TV or consoles unless he wants to lose access to them. In turn, his options have been significantly reduced. All that’s left are the board games stuffed away in the hall closet, but they’re incomplete and he doubts anyone here wants to play. That makes one option.
With a sigh, he gets to his feet. A walk should do the trick. He shouldn’t be gone long, just enough to come back recharged. It’ll be quick. His parents won’t even know he’s gone, and his friends will be too busy talking to care.
As Shiloh slips on his shoes, he turns to the group. They seem content where they are, all sprawled out on the floor among the blankets and pillows they brought from home. Still, he mentions where he’s going to them. No response. That’s fine with him.
He leaves.
The night air is cooler compared to what it’s been all summer, a sign of the changing seasons. The temperature change isn’t enough to need a jacket, but it feels wrong. After getting used to the heat, the creep of colder weather is unnatural, invasive. It touches each nerve in Shiloh’s body, holding his skin, and wringing a shiver out of his spine. It’s as if he shouldn’t be out here yet, like he has to wait for autumn before he can leave the house.
The chill acts as a warning sign, begging him to turn around. As it insists, he refuses; ignoring the pleas just for tonight. After all, what’s the worry if he’s not going to be out for very long? He’ll go home when he’s done. It’s just a quick journey.
The stroll leads him into town, which is a first. Shiloh never dares to go this far from safety in the night. In his attempts to force himself to be tired, he’s only ever gone to the end of his road and back. Tonight, however, the glow of the street lights are more enticing than they’ve ever been. One time shouldn’t hurt.
Against anyone’s better judgment, he persists.
He’s never gotten to wander the city at night like this, only ever seeing the store fronts from car windows. It’s mesmerizing in person—just how it looks in all of the Christmas movies sans snow. He stares into all of the windows as he passes, taking in everything on display. The lights pull him in, demanding his full attention. He couldn't be further removed from reality.
In his daydreaming, he thinks about how fun it would be to walk this strip with his friends. How they would be side by side, crashing into each other as they lose balance from laughing. How some of the only noise would be their chatter. It would be a perfect evening. It could have been this evening.
The more he thinks about it, the sadder it makes him. They’ll never get that chance with how things are going. And it seems that no one besides him wants to make the attempt to fix everything. Truly, it’s a doomed friendship. Maybe it wasn’t meant to last.
It’s infectious. Once he starts to think about things like this, it snowballs forever. Sitting in the back of his mind, these thoughts make him anxious for the foreseeable future. He knows that it won’t stop at the idea of losing his friends, nor will it end at the possibility of being all alone. It’s a downward spiral that will trap him until he’s sufficiently occupied.
Luckily, distraction comes as a patch of darkness where the warm glow ends—an alley, its contents enveloped in shadow…except for one dim light at the end, just before the path diverges behind the next building. The sounds of shuffling can be heard from within, groans following. Someone could be hurt. He should check.
Something in his brain tells him not to go toward it. Something primal says that there’s danger past the point where the sidewalk meets the patchy brick. The wind picks up more, chilling him to the bone; another warning to turn back. Another caution sign that he doesn’t heed. He follows the sounds further in.
“Hello?” Shiloh calls into the darkness, creeping forward with light footsteps, “Are you alright?”
The moaning comes to a halt, the alley falling into complete silence. Everything is at a standstill, save for his heart beating in his chest and in his ears. It sounds as if it should be echoing off the walls. Whoever is here with him should be able to hear it. They should know that he’s scared.
“...Is any-” He’s cut off by a haunting growl, one full of phlegm and saliva that rumbles in the throat of its owner. It sounds disgusting, just as the steps approaching him sound uneven. In between his heartbeat and the limping he hears, there’s something wet dripping onto the ground that—along with the rancid smell, makes his stomach turn. He can’t stand here any longer.
Shiloh attempts to move, but his feet are glued to the ground. As the thing gets closer, his brain screams for his legs to work, but to no avail. He can see the shadow of the creature and he knows that he doesn’t have much time to get out. Despite this, his knee simply twitches in response, useless. He curses himself in his head.
As it rounds the corner, he can see the monster at last. Ashen and sick, its eyes are glazed over and full of hunger. It walks with a limp, dragging one leg behind itself and swaying while its mouth and shirt are covered in blood. Something falls from its teeth as its milky gaze lands on him, and he’s sure that something is human. It’s obvious, isn’t it?
This thing is a zombie. They exist.
It lunges for him as he manages to turn and run, holding its arms out in an attempt to grab. The zombie is faster than he could have anticipated, its fingertips brushing the back of his t-shirt as he tries to get away—some animalistic urge to consume pushing it harder than its decaying body should allow. It leans most of its weight toward him as it chases, wanting to shove him toward the ground in order to make him its meal. The only thing stopping it is the fact that Shiloh is human, having a sturdier body and legs that carry him better. With the distance he’s putting between them, it’s going to have to close the gap before it can do anything to him.
Just before he can reach the street, his shoe catches one of the bricks sticking out of the path, sending him tumbling to the ground. It’s an awkward fall that leaves him scrambling to get up again, but attempting to push himself to his feet is useless. His legs shake too much to find stability. His arms give out and force him to start again. It’s over.
He turns himself around to see the zombie looming over him, so much more of its details visible now that they’re closer to the light of the strip. There’s only a few patches of greasy hair left on its head and its lips have deteriorated, forcing an eerie, red stained grimace. Its cheeks are starting to hollow from decomposition and he can smell it. He’s sure that he’s staring into the face of death, into the eyes of hell. As it drops to its knees to begin its feast, he braces himself for the bite- certain that he knows now what his future is.
Shiloh does not want to be undead…assuming that there will be any of him left.
But the bite never comes. Instead, there’s two reverberating bangs and the zombie comes to a complete halt. It pitches forward, falling right on top of him in a motionless heap, heavy on his stomach. The corpse is cold itself, but something on it is miserably lukewarm and wet. It’s blood.
He pushes the body off of himself as he yelps, heavy breathing turning into a wheeze. He’s covered in the gore of that thing, his front soaked in a reddish brown. It’s already turning tacky against his skin and gluing his shirt to his stomach. All that he can smell is rust and rot. His hands, covered in it, shake as he looks at them and whimpers.
However, he doesn’t get much time to register all that happened as a blinding light is shoved into his face, forcing him to cover his eyes. It burns and is impossible to adjust to, even when peeking through his fingers. He can’t see a thing—it could be another zombie for all he knows.
“Are you bitten?” A male voice asks and Shiloh lets go of the breath he didn’t know he was holding, shaking his head no.
The voice of his savior is calming. Though it doesn’t stop his tremors or wheezing, he feels relief wash over him and his body begins to become sore. This awful night is over. He can go home tonight and pretend none of this ever happened. He’ll never go out alone at night ever again.
“Are you sure?”
He nods.
After a second, the man gives a hum of acknowledgement, moving his flashlight from his eyes. Now, through phosphenes, he can get a look at his rescuer…which doesn’t provide many features. He wasn’t expecting full, black tactical gear and a mask covering his face, every little detail obscured. All he gets is the red and white Umbrella Pharmaceuticals logo that is plastered directly onto the bulletproof vest. But why would Umbrella need equipment like this?
Don’t they just make medicine like Adravil and Safsprin?
Putting his finger to his ear and turning slightly away, his savior speaks again. “Cadaver has been neutralized, but there’s a witness. I have a young man here, not infected. Awaiting further instruction.”
Shiloh can hear the earpiece buzz and someone speaks. The man in front of him stares at him in silence as he receives his orders, and he stares back with pleading eyes. He just wants to go home. This will never happen again, he’ll make as many promises as he needs to so he’s believed. Gossip has never sounded more entertaining.
“Affirmative.”
His supposed defender lifts his gun and points it in his direction, taking on a darker tone.
“Get up,” he demands, voice cold and harsh, “Umbrella wants to meet you.”
Okay so I'm back to test something.
This wip isn't doing very well on Persona twitter (sitting at 7 rts including a qrt and rt from myself and 4 likes), but I heard that Tumblr is just generally a better place to post art so I wanna see what happens if I post it here too.
Context: This is my persona OC, Jules. I have a whole 9,000+ word, 33 page google doc for whoever wants to read about them. The link is under the cut, but BEWARE the P3-5 spoilers
❝ Somehow, this fiercely blowing wind is dear to me now, You were always smiling. ❞ ═════ ★ • ☾ • ★ ═════ ⚜ General Info ⚜ ═════ ★ • ☾ •
