dead on the highway

Hi, I'm Rkill/Adrian. I like monsters and fanfic. Been into Left 4 Dead and Creepypasta since I was a kid. Didn't start writing until recently though. You'll find a lot of weird niche stuff here.

This is not a place for minors or AI bros.

My askbox is open. Freaks and geeks welcome.

I was born in Alaska. We moved to Washington when I was young and that's where I've been since. I cope with depression through writing; it kinda helps. Favorite Food: Roasted Eel Favorite Movie: Panman Favorite Game: Dead Cells Favorite Musician: Franck Rivoire Least Favorite Person: Jeff Bezos If I had a million dollars, I... would be doing what I am now (but with less stress).

MY FANFICS

The Test Subject ➤ (Left 4 Dead)

"A Hunter becomes the hunted."

━━━⊱ Chapter I: Seattle ━━━⊱ Chapter II: Regret

TW: Gore, blood, cannibalism, major character death, cussing

ONE-SHOTS

━━━⊱ Captive TW: Non-con, blood, starvation, hurt no comfort

━━━⊱ Catch & Release TW: Dismemberment, non-con, character death, predator/prey

━━━⊱ Zombie Scientist TW: Body horror

I am open to roleplaying in Tumblr/Discord DMs. No minors please.

━━━⊱ My Cujo bio

War & Strategy ➤ (Sky: Children of the Light) ➤ Discontinued... for now.

"When a crisis threatens the entire Empire of Sky, Head Strategist Alto is forced to into an uneasy alliance with Dusk—a man who seems more Krill than Moth."

━━━⊱ Chapter I: Feint ━━━⊱ Chapter II: Remains

TW: None

Read all my writing here.

FANART / HEADCANONS

Hunter's Hall of Fame ➤ AO3 ➤ Tumblr Thank you, amazing artists!

My L4D Headcanons ➤ AO3 ➤ Tumblr

My Kofi — I'm crowdfunding an art tablet.

My Art

My writing inspirations are Metro 2033, Romantically Apocalyptic, and The Road.

Roadkillrebel.com — Save it, bookmark it, share it with others. This will be the new home for all of my writing. I'm glad it's finally here. It only took seven straight days of painstaking effort to make it a reality.

Of course, I will continue posting my content on Tumblr and AO3. That will never change.

I created this website because I wanted full control. Tumblr censors NSFW art and often needlessly flags adult writing. AO3 is great (I love you, AO3!) but you can't customize your profile or blog there. So I combined the best parts of each platform and made something of my own.

it is 100 degrees.

my mother slaves over a hot stove, cooking breakfast for old men. the old men sip their coffee and talk about the better days. the “better” days that are conveniently the ones when they were young.

and i wash dishes. the dishes never end. i go home and wash dishes, i go to work and wash dishes, i go home and— notice a spot, and i obsessively scrub it like one obsessively scrubs at a thought. i try not to think about it.

how do you cope with the fact that jobs are fake? money is fake? we’re living a lie. we’re on a rock hurtling through space at 67,000 miles per hour. the universe will continue expanding until heat death, then nothing will ever exist again.

and that out of all the nothing for billions of years, life came into existence. life is absurd—life is RARE; one of the rarest materials in the universe.

my mother will never exist again. science does not allow it. and no matter how hard i think about it, it will never change.

when’s the last time i’ll hug my mother? when’s the last time i’ll write again? maybe i’ll stop caring. i’ll see a stray cat on the street and i won’t bother. what’s the point? we’ll all die someday, right? some before others.

the kitchen will be 100 degrees everyday this summer. i bought my mom a clip-on fan for this mother’s day.

Our food grows on dunes we eat what grows at our feet. we never complain.

we sleep in the open— no trees. and we eat and play and we eat and play all day, all day

We’re in dire need of root canals our teeth shaved to the gum. we need blankets, we need fire we need hands that is our desire

But want and need divorced long ago.

in the forest still red elks gather bucking and fucking for this year’s rut

springing from their loins, new summers so sweet like a cup of morning

come next year’s rot the elk put dirt blankets on so they can sleep away, from the winter air

say goodbye, to summer lights the honeybee, she, says goodbye