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parxsitic >:3c

Positivity! | slightly selectively accepting | @parxsitic

Ah, yes. Ruben. My other half in some ways.

I'm more than amused by the fact that you are the main reason I even fell into the Outlast fandom, and that I in return dragged you back in here too. If that doesn't say something about us, I don't know.

Anyway! You count to my best friends for sure. I love talking to you, I love spamming you with random stuff, I love looking at all the animal pictures you send me. I'm really glad I took the courage to just crash in your inbox that one day and talk to you because by now, I cannot possibly imagine not talking to you for longer than two days in a row. You are a very huge part of my life by now and I'm just so so thankful to have you as a friend, because honestly, you're one of the best friends I could hope for.

Also you're such a fantastic artist like oh my god give me your talent? Your art is just flawless and beautiful and I wanna see all of it always. Doesn't matter if I dunno what's going on, I just wanna see it.

As if that's not enough, you're also?? Such a good writer? Like, I cannot even describe it, but reading your writing is always like being pulled down the rabbit hole. It's artistic when it needs to be, vulgar when the situation and muse asks for it, simple when called for — it just always fits, it fits in such a whole way and makes the entire experience of reading anything of yours like looking at a ridiculous masterwork I cannot possibly wrap my head around but adore everything about it, anyway.

Seriously, unfair. Stop being so good at everything.

#[ † ] ;; ANONYMOUS TIP. (anon.)#[ † ] ;; YOU HAVE [1] UNREAD EMAIL. (asks.)#[ † ] ;; OFFSCREEN. (ooc.)#parxsitic

the Walrider is learning how to kiss, and because the Walrider is learning how to kiss-- keyword; 'learning'-- it isn't two seconds after they've slipped their tongue into Miles' mouth that said tongue sprouts a mass of TEETH. what must be billions of tiny syringes sweep along the inside of Miles' cheek, and the Walrider (once aware of what they are doing, and somewhat delighted by it) LAUGHS against the Host's mouth, finding it FUNNY where it should be shameful && horrifying. .. Go figure.

There’s a lot of things they both have to learn, and he does, does eagerly. Does suck up the little tell-tale signs that would show him the parasite to be in a playful or a teasing mood — does the same for those that make obvious that they aren’t, that they are pissed at whatever the fuck it’s now and that’d be best to keep that darned tongue of his in check unless he wants them to take control of his body and make him a prisoner, unless he wants to feel like he’s torn apart and set together anew.

This? He’s not sure which part of it it is, honestly. If they genuinely mean well or if they want to just fuck him up yet again — in one moment, he’s still typing some text down (he’s getting better, there’s less missing letters that come from a key being hit by a finger that’s no longer there), the next his vision is full of Walrider, and they press, and bite.

Kissing the Walrider is always odd. Sometimes it’s like putting cold metal into your mouth. Sometimes it’s like smoke fills your lungs. Sometimes it’s like you’re drowning. This time, there’s teeth, ripping tiny holes into his tongue, the inside of his cheek, and he tastes copper (his own blood, he’d muse) and nearly chokes on them, pushing down far too deep down his throat yet again.

He wants to curse, but his mouth just fills more with them, a liquid filling up every room they can find. He wants to push them off, but it’s like pushing aside air, and at the same time his hands hit solid, unmovable steel. So there’s not much to do than to relax against them, have them tear open the vulnerable insides of his mouth, and their laughter ringing in his ears and through his bones.

And the most fucked up part?

He actually really fucking enjoys it.

#parxsitic #[ † ] ;; YOU HAVE [1] UNREAD EMAIL. (asks.)#[ RE ] ;; EVERY BREATH I TAKE IS FILLED WITH YOUR SMOKE. (& walrider.)#i was already in bed & half asleep i just got back up to write this

someone tell my eldritch life partner they are being gross again they don’t listen to me

#boyfriend? girlfriend? genderless god-friend? ???#parxsitic #crack.#stop exaggerating my kinks you sick thing

parxsitic replied to your post: tell me i'm pretty

you’ll find peace when you’re dead

i am dead

#parxsitic #??? firing squads??? ringing any bells????#wow i cant believe how rude you got #no more youtube for you #crack.

@parxsitic She beckons to Mara gently, a small smile playing on her lips. "Come...let me get a look at you."

#parxsitic

“My friends…they’ve come back to me…”

#//her nonhuman babies are back #dash commentary #lateralascension #parxsitic

@parxsitic | starter call

He remembers, vaguely, the old radio his mother had. A beast of a machine, dominating the living room where other people would have a television. She was never much for that, said it destroyed your imagination, and would prefer to listen to music or a story told and made up her own scenery with it. He supposed it worked, for two out of her three children ended up creative, and always questioning. They weren't really allowed to touch the thing, for it was old — was it his grandfather's? A generation before? He can't remember — and children had a habit of breaking things. Of course, children also had a habit of ignoring what they were told. When the cat's away —

With modern radios, you usually get stations pretty sharp. Not a hundred percent, there's always a bit of noise just on the outsides of their frequency, but still, pretty sharp. That thing? It had gotten so much shit in — radio, police funk, the neighbor's walkie-talkies — and had a far more difficult scale, so if you didn't get the needle on the exact right spot, it'd get a weird distorted signal. Several overlapped, sounding as if someone was trying to summon the devil, or some equally fucked up shit. They made a game out of getting the most ridiculous or scary message out of the signals they would get.

He thinks about this a lot, lately, for that's exactly what it sounds like inside his head. That's how it feels — not getting anything in clearly, not knowing what belongs where. Sometimes something comes through crystal clear, sometimes it... dissolves into a blur of voices. Memories, for a part, but not all are his. Foreign thoughts for another.

Seems like it had after all succeeded, this hell on earth, and drove him insane.

"Please shut up."

This voice is thin, begging, so unlike his own that he doesn't even realize it is, or that he spoke aloud. Silence — just for a moment, just shortly, just enough to really think.

Although it is a valid possibility that it wants to keep him from that. If it's to conquer, or to protect, he does not know. All he knows is the soft beg that draws from dry lips.

Please shut up.

#parxsitic #[ V ] ;; ARE YOU IN CONTROL? ARE YOUR THOUGHTS YOUR OWN? (main.)#well. this escalated in length.