#mod vic

We're looking for more artists, writers, and creative folks of all kinds to help us put together Unprepared Casters' very first FANZINE! Below, we have a Google Form for you to fill out if you're interested in contributing in any way. The form will be available to fill out from now until Tuesday, September 2nd, 2025 at 2PM EST.

This is going to be a long term project, as we wish to give everyone involved plenty of time to complete their work. The release date of this zine will be March 15th 2026, for UC's 5th Anniversary, if all goes according to plan.

I miss her every day 💔💔💔

[Image ID (FAKE): A blurry picture of Carmen Sandiego bending over to pick something up that she dropped. And she's got hella ass while doing it, cheeked up on a thursday night, hella ass. The entire baking factory even. Good lord.]

PHANDOM PHIGHT CLUB 2023 SIGN-UPS ARE LIVE!

Sign-ups will close once we reach 64 Phighters, so sign up fast if you’re serious about participating!

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What is Phandom Phight Club?

https://discord.gg/4V2ZFMHXvF

~hope i did your request justice, you can call this part three to my oh, brother series~

They were insatiable - always needing more, more, more.

Nines was the more demanding one, new to his deviancy and hungry for any, all sensations to quell his rapidly increasing hunger.

Connor was patient, understanding. He still had his desires but it was tamer in comparison to his voracious brother who couldn’t seem to control himself.

You had come to appreciate Connor’s presence more than his brother’s, but recently the two of them had seemed to come to an understanding. That there was no need to hold back when it came to terms of your “willingness”. If they wanted something, they would take it.

After all…

They earned it.

“A-ah...Please…” A hopeless plea - it always is.

“Shhhh, sweet thing it’s alright,” Connor coos softly in your ear as he continues to rut into you from behind, his cadence hard but even.

Nines is a little bit colder in his placating, standing stoically in front of you. He’s hard, holding himself in his hand. “Teacup, didn’t anyone ever teach you not to talk with your mouth full?”

He doesn’t give you enough time to retort before he shoves himself forcefully between your lips, not bothering to ask permission. When did a single syllable ever stop him?

This isn’t a new song and dance. You know all the steps and the unfortunate circumstances that occur if you don’t follow the rhythm they set for you. Dark room, no food, limited water. Hell at this point, a slap to the face is a welcome occurrence in contrast. You’re broken, but that doesn’t make the consequences any less pleasant despite that statement of fact. You know that, they know that.

You take Nine’s into your mouth, sucking feverishly as Connor continues to take his own pleasure from you.

“That’s it teacup,” Nines grunts, cupping your cheek in his hand as he starts to move his own hips steadily against you.

Again, it’s all familiar - muscle memory. Your tongue knows the right places to swipe against, your lips know the right amount of pressure to exert. Nines isn’t one to keen and moan but you can tell by the swirling amber light of his LED that you’re doing what’s right, what needs to be done.

“Y-yes, that’s it,” he repeats, a blue tint now adorning his cheeks. You’ve never heard Nines stutter like that before; some dark, twisted sense of pride swells through you at his flustering. You trail the flat of your tongue up and down synthetic veins, becoming lost in the motion as a familiar heat creeps through you as Connor continues to hit harder, deeper within you.

It’s sickeningly pleasurable.

You find yourself pressing back against Connor, much to his delight, and he grinds against you just so. The friction sent sparks coursing through you, leaving your fingertips tingling at the sensation. You mewl in uncharacteristic delight, reverberating against Nines who retorts with ecstasy induced profanities as he fully engulfs himself within you.

Connor leaned forward against you, whispering sweet nothings against the shell of your ear as he too found himself lost in rapture. “Isn’t this nice, sweet thing? We just want to make you happy, right brother?”

Nines takes a moment to compose himself, “Of course. See what happens when you cooperate? There’s no need to bare your fangs at us when this,” he accentuates his point with an aggressive thrust, “is all it takes.” He withdraws himself from you, reveling in your panting before taking your chin firmly in his hand.

“Don’t you agree?”

It’s posed rhetorically, but you know better.

“Y-yes,” you say hoarsely.

His grip tightens on your jaw. “Yes, what?”

Defiance has left you, your fiery disposition gone and edges softened. You’re compliant, theirs to mold however they wish.

“Yes, sir.”

Nines spares no time delving back into you and Connor hastens his pace at your subservience.

Their programming is a hectic array of ones and zeros, chasing and chasing a release that quickly has become addicting. To have you as theirs, completely, has their LEDs burning red, messages flashing behind closed eyes speaking of software instabilities and system malfunctions.

Let it be their glorious ruination.

Their pace devolves into a rapid, erratic tempo with Connor’s thumb tracing tight circles over your clit. Every synapse is surging with white-hot electricity and a pressure rapidly building in the pit of your stomach. Your whines become more high-pitched and frequent as you’re pushed closer to that familiar precipice.

You break between them, spectacularly so.

And as the two of them follow you over the edge, covering you in their spend, you think you could eventually get used to their ravenous appetites.