#themechaneer

MEME → First meeting prompts.

Rachel was nervous to be among the townsfolk again. Much as she didn't like it she came from a big name family. The Jessops were affluent, made obvious by their Georgian-style mansion... and living in the countryside meant everyone was already in each other's back pockets.

She could feel that familiar clench in her chest when people started to recognise her. The daughter of Christopher and Elizabeth. Runaway drug addict, disowned by her parents, a disgrace and a cautionary tale among the God-fearing community.

That was how she ended up tucked in the corner of the Hollyhock Saloon. The tables and chairs had been cleared to make way for the 'Hollyhock hoedown' an event that once brought her so much joy. How many years had she come here, allowed to stay up past her bedtime as a kid, copying the adults in a smaller-scale of messy square dancing with friends.

Nostalgia was a funny thing. Those happier memories, good times that belonged in the past, had given her courage to show her face in the first social event since her rehabilitation. She wasn't alone of course. Other members of the Project were scattered around, watching over one another and making sure no one strayed.

The added pressure made Rachel withdraw further. Her eyes spoke volumes, darting around, seeking a point of exit. Apparently her anxious energy didn't go unnoticed. A man approached and asked her to dance — a face she didn't recognise. Could have been someone who moved to the County during her wayward years, could have been someone who had been knocking around who she never met... hell, could have been a passing face she forgot, her use of hard drugs had certainly taken a toll.

But none of that seemed to matter.

Despite his imposing figure, he wasn't suffocating. Didn't make her feel small. Or vulnerable. Or judged. There was a gentle kindness in him and it sparked her first nervous little smile for the night.

*One Shot*

Joel and Sam run into each other while out on separate runs, and decide two is better than one and work together to get the most out of what each is scavenging for.

 ✨ @themechaneer he likes the heat waves!!!

summer and that's mostly because he's just used to being in hot weather. he don't fuck with autumn and winter. virote grew up in a tropical climate with a good deal of rainfall happening in the summer...... and yes before he moved to the states he traveled a lot with his family and went to places that got cold, but there was something incredibly jarring about moving to america and living through a cold winter for the first time glkfjdskd. well... it wasnt as cold compared to a lot of other states but it was still enough to make him hate his life.

anyway about where he’s from in bangkok, thailand.

between mid-november and january, the weather is good, usually with clear skies. highs are around 30 / 32°C ( 86 / 90°F ) and lows around 20 / 22°C ( 68 / 72°F ), so it's hot, even though it's winter. between march and mid-may, before the arrival of the monsoon, the heat becomes intense: highs can reach 37 / 38°C ( 99 / 100°F ), and even at night it continues to be hot, when the temperature often remains around 28 / 29°C ( 82 / 84°F ).

he loves winter and autumn in an aesthetic and feeling sense only but he hates how cold it is. virote’s a summer person, through and through. he’s also pretty chill when spring rolls around because he enjoys a mild breeze :)))) 

virote likes the hotness of deep summer weather and he likes humidity and he likes going on jogs on the hottest days.

✨ @themechaneer he be eatin good!!

if he's cooking his own hangover, he's gonna go to the biggest bowl of congee of all time. chinese rice porridge. he go ham with the toppings, too! fresh scallions, chopped coriander leaves, poached chicken from making the stock, a raw egg yolk, and soy sauce. some days he likes to throw on pickled mustard, pickld radish, pork floss, fermented bean curd, chive dumplings, century eggs, fried spam. and he definitely enjoy like.... adding in somethin a lil extra on the side like a scallion pancake.... maybe a lil broccoli stirfry.... water spinach w. some shrimp paste. it’s good eatin... simple, but good.... just stuff he grew up eating. :)) helps the hangover and makes him think of his grandma ehehe.

but if he wakes up on saturday / sunday at like. 1pm in the afternoon lol then he’s definitely ordering!!! he got his go-to joints from the neighborhood.... a lil carnitas burrito... mojado style...  doused in enchilada sauce, melted cheese, guacamole, and sour cream....  

pho. oh definitely pho. vietnamese food is definitely something is orders for delivery. banh mi.... like ya kno the sandwich. he likes extra fried egg in his. bun cha.... small patties of seasoned pork and slices of marinated pork belly over a charcoal fire. once theyre charred and crispy the morsels are served with a large bowl of a fish sauce-heavy broth, a basket of herbs and a helping of rice noodles.......

good shit.

            SHE REVS THE ARCH TO LIFE & punches the pedal in her escape from the warehouse. ( undoubtedly for the sleek design & powerful body )  her bike’s engine screams & she speeds it forward, down the road, swerved in front of one of the ground-based assailant mercenaries with an automatic rifle in hand to slow down her approach via a fusillade of bullets before he could jump the great iron fence behind him & out of range.  as her trajectory converges to an impromptu arc, the entire side of light pink fender makes purchase with ARMORED KNEECAPS & he’s sent bolting into stitched metal with a violent smack!  unnecessary in the grand scheme of losing the crowd, but satisfying for the sake of spite. 

recently deployed nano-drone snaps a still of each overbearing-looking TACTICAL GUARD & tags them for hacking on the road if & when the time is ripe. ( data pulled from NCPD database peddles warrants for colorful crimes each: murdering law enforcement, grand larceny, aggravated assault, etc., the typical unsavory mercs! ) several vehicles pursuing her on the mostly clear ROADS OF PACIFICA with no clear intent to let up.  over the voracious hum of motorcycle, she can hear the whistling of rounds whizzing past her head in near misses.  with their precious cargo sitting snug beneath seat compartment, 𝐕 has a history of taking things without asking. 

the chase rages on for a time, & she reflects on her STRATEGY.  placements.  the only way she can storm is through maneuvering then planting traps behind her.  strange eyes taking their distance, a thinker’s look, something turning & brewing in her head ; queued quickhacks.  

they up the ante.  attempt to BOX HER IN from the north with a road monster of a painted-up thorton.  swift on her feet, she speeds at the vehicle direct & jumps onto the hood, up over the roof.  leapt over it.  perceives BURSTFIRE shots in her direction to grab her out of the air.  upon landing, she grimaces to herself.  swore, organic hand gropes at her side.  something nicked it, pierced it perhaps.  bastards.

after making a sharp turn on the fragmented street, digs into utility belt for a spherical shaped piece of chrome, etched with jagged DELINEATIONS.  as she opts for another risky maneuver ; straight path.  cyberarm flings back & pitches the metal ball.  as it hits the ground, all of its segments peel it back like a curdled fruit & a flash!  an explosion of razor-sharp caltrops litter asphalt behind her.  tiny drone provides a live, in-ocular feed of the troupe of cars losing traction the moment tires meet the stoppers, causing a domino effect of crashes & one spinning completely out of control & into an old fire hydrant. pressurized water becomes the punchline.  only the the vehicles taking up the rear become fortunate enough not to run into the GRIDLOCK.  they lose her.  

using her map, pinpoints the location for nearby clinic.  gps points to a mechanic chop shop doubling as a clinic.  in her engine, an irregular clanking sound becomes heightened enough for her to no longer ignore now that the fray has subsided.  It’s shot & only by the grace of god, lasted as long as it did.  passing several permanently-sealed shops & an OLD HOTEL boarded up with rotted wood & peeled, old political posters yellowed by smog, she pulls into a side-street & draws out kickstand with steel-toe of heeled boot.  secures the cargo with an extra layer of ICE.  walks ( or hobbles ) it several feet to the front, when the nagging sting hits.  all sensations adrenaline saw fit to block becomes predominantly a pain in the--literally.  automatic metal doors slide open & she leans forward on the front counter for support.

❛ ——need.  medical attention.  immediately.  got eddies. ❜

✨ @themechaneer ft. @maximuses our favorite super awful anger man. meme. still accepting!

❝... I don't know how to talk about Trevor, sometimes. Let's start with the fact that I love him?❞

Trevor Philips could never be considered a good person. He killed too many people, stole too much, caused massive amounts of destruction. Virote wouldn’t even begin to think about the more... Uh, severe problems. Like the whole killing his own brother, torturing people for the FIB, et cetera. ❝The heart wants what it wants, I guess. I do love him, though! Really. I’m pretty much in it for the long haul with Trevor. I just have a really hard time wrapping my mind around the life he’s lived... How do I, some Vinewood normie, comprehend it, huh? How? I’ve been caught up in the orbit of his crimes. Of everyone’s crimes. I have a hard time understanding, still. I just used to sit there and hope they don’t get killed. Thankfully, everything simmered down after Steve Haines got popped. Devin Weston is dead, the Union Depository was hit. It’s been calm-ish since then.❞ It was bizarre talking about it all like it was just another regular-degular occurrence in Los Santos.

random asks | always accepting | @themechaneer

First off, for all that don't know: going for an "end game" was the original game plan when I made Miles five years ago. I tend to lose interest in muses after a couple months so my intention was to make his mental state gradually worse and worse, until I realized that this one would not go anywhere and then kind of ... not quite freeze it there, it's still happening as my blog progresses, but far far slower.

There are several potential outcomes, I already briefly talked about them in private, but there are:

1) LACK OF CONTROL / OBLIVION / THE ETERNAL DREAM. The obvious one, the one he dreads, where the Walrider consumes him in one way or another. He already loses parts of his memory, both recent from Them taking over (which is less forgetting and more just having blind spots) but also older ones. He doesn't remember what his father looked like, and pieces of his childhood are missing, and those are going to become more and more. There's also just the terror of not waking up again; something that has him dreading sleep. Not because They only take control from him when he's sleeping, of course, but the idea of just never walking up again while something else uses your body is terrifying again, and since it already happened for days and weeks at a time (though never as bad as immediately after the asylum where he was drowned out for nearly four months), it's a very intimate fear. Of course, he doesn't know how exactly that happens; if he will simply sleep forever, or cease to exist, but he assumes that something will remain. In my blog canon, something of everything the swarm consumes remains, and hosts of course more than a simple feast for the longer and deeper connection. He does, however, not know if it's actually a remain of the person themselves or simply an echo, and he doesn't know which of all these options he fears most. It would be a mix of both; some small piece remaining but the rest simply... like someone copying you after knowing you very, very well. Impossible to tell from the outside. That one is a slow death; and one that would be very terrifying to watch. Imagine dementia, only coupled with murderous intent and the knowledge that when they die, it will spread to someone else; but that this new person still holds onto the corpse of your lover and never letting them know peace.

2) THE VIOLENT DEATH; THE PASSING ON. Now, one could argue that this one would be merciful; that it comes sudden and without the horror of losing your mind and your sanity and being aware of it, however, there is one subform of it that makes it not that much less terrifying, and that is Val (and whatever new followers she might gain) and whatever the end goal with Blake's impossible child is; something she sees as the Antichrist and the vessel for her God. Religions, especially ones that deal with things such as these, are often filled with violent rituals, and there is very little reason to believe that, should they find this child and deem it fit for hosting the Walrider, that they will simply wait for it to be passed on. There needs to be a literal passing on; there needs to be a rite. There needs to be something definite: something symbolic. Like literally carving out his heart out of his chest; and maybe let the new vessel feed on it — cannibalism is hardly something that pagan religions would bat their eyes on, especially in a case like this where it would be to consume the old to gain divinity. They haven't talked about it. But he knows it's an option that's in the room.