#Mid-Core Games

[creepyscritches]

Ngl monster hunter wilds is one of the most frustrating UIs and command entry systems I've used. I mean, I GET that it's a long established series so people are familiar with the setup, but it is genuinely a mark of shit setup if there is no real tutorial on how to use the system if you have no prev mh experience :/

Radial menu heal commands are just gaslighting at this point. 3 - 5 attempts to get the input to actually register mid-battle.....caca ass layout 🙃

[xxow2xx]

💠

PSP

[oraoraorihara]

[planet4546b]

zack fair my darling boy i love that you are a #squatwarrior i have to salute you but your squat form stressed me OUT. ZACK. YOUR KNEES

[astudyinpanda]

Ooooh, I wanna know about Put On Display! 👀👀

Continuing this year's theme of new and exciting bad days for Kallus, during an undercover operation at an Imperial facility in about 2 ABY, someone gets suspicious of him and reveals his identity at an inconvenient moment.

Is there a plot? Sure. Is this another excuse to get Kallus violently arrested by bucketheads? Yes, that too!

[julianalovesmixels]

𖦹⋆｡˚⋆ฺ SOLAR ECLIPSE 2004! (2004) ⋆.˚౨ৎ

ᛎ⬇ video below ⬇ᛎ

ᯓ★ on april 19, 2004, the solar eclipse happened! ⋆｡°✩

∧,,,∧

( ̳• · • ̳)

/ づ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆

(IMPORTANT: BFDI BELONGS TO JACKNJELLIFY, DO NOT STEAL, TRACE, OR CLAIM THAT THIS ART IS YOURS!)

[ashinaisshin]

it is done! i love this game...

[anime-scarves]

Graphic design is my passion.

[savages-weapons]

I keep seeing arguments like "not having to play the first three games will bring more new players" for EA choice of not having a way to indicate major previous world choice in their new Dragon Age game and "but it would be too hard to have all those choice taken into account after 10 years" and I just wanna say: 1) you never had to play previous game to start a dragon age game before? default world setting have always been a thing if you had not play the previous ones? plenty of people started with da2 or inquisition the fact that the options of importing your previous choice is gone will not bring anymore people than for the previous games. But it might lose some.

2) they managed to do that fine for three games, years ago so why is it impossible for a fourth? I do not see how a decade made it harder to do. No one wanted all the choice they ever made with every characters to be taken into account: just the main ones. The way they did with the tapestry would have been fine. It was not an impossible task: it's just easier to be lazy when you screwed up the development so much you have to speedrun making the game. If you only have the world default world state, then no need to make different quest for players with different past games, no multiples characters swapping in some quest depending on who lived or died and what choice you made with them, no different dialogues to create, no political differences in how some are treated (like mages depending on which Divine rose to power in Inquisition or elves depending on who rules in Orlais). But those things are what make a world feels more real, that what gave so much re-playability to the previous games.

On a personal note: I expect more for rpg than the illusion of choice, which is what more and more games give you... Sure you get different dialogue options, different romances, and can play a few different races. If you lucky a few different endings and look you can play good or evil, but you'all gonna get the same main story and side quests coz we cant be bothered to add all those different paths to our stories anymore. And Im not taking the "it's too much work" from a company with as much money and talents as EA: they're not an overwhelmed indie team.

I get that capitalism means people will be underpaid, overworked and this game had a different name and story plan just a few year ago so of course it was gonna be a mess. It has very clearly been in development hell for a while and reworked so much it's probably unrecognizable from what it once was. Probably took lot of work from some passionate people and lot of bad call and cuts from asshole in power. Just because all of that is a thing and because we love and miss the series doesn't mean they're owe success or money, especially with a game that somehow feels rushed? (yes despite 10 years) A sad fact of creative work is that people can work for years on something with passion and true desire to do something good and the final product can still be bad, just because of bad management and executive decisions.

At this point i'd take them pushing it back another five years if it meant they kept the tradition that your main choice, the one supposed to have major impact on the world (who was the warden, Hawke & their respective lovers, who is king in Ferelden, who rules in Orlais, who is the new religious leader of a whole ass continent for the last decade and what it the new situation for mage depending on them ruling the Chantry?) were taken into account over just who my inquisitor romanced and if they wanna kill or save Solas. Saying because it's in a different regions none of those things matter is absurd, politics doesn't work like that: da2 is set in Kirkwall, a completely different region and the event of the previous game of course had impact on that region too. World event aren't stopped at frontiers. Who the Divine is in particular, has an impact on the entire continent and even on enemy nations. It's that impactful of a choice both societal and political, if you want your world to have any depths.

That none of this is taken into account int his game means, no references to any of it in the new game, or it they are references well they wont match a lot of people previous games. They will feel basic and bland. Previous characters brought back in this one will feel emptier and more generic because none of them will mention things specific to any of the characters they were supposedly close to for years - be it Varric about Hawke and the inquisitor or Morrigan about their warden (especially if you romanced her as the warden in one of your playthrought rip I guess).

It just makes it more hollow as a whole and yeah I get why they did it. It is easier that way. But Im also not giving them money for this game either. Sure if it get on sale big time in a few years why not but I dont personally see the point in playing in a default world.

Plenty are just excited to meet new characters and have new romance and I'm not saying you can't be by the way. People dont want the same things out of game and that is fine, I care more for worldbuilding than romance options myself - love a romance but impact over time of players choice was for me more of a core mechanic than being able to romance any companions. People who don't want to play this game as it is or feel disappointed and like they wont enjoy the game as much aren't just unreasonable hater either. The choice you made having impact over time in the world was a core mechanic of this series for three games, and removing it kills a part of the appeal of the series. None of that justify abusing or insulting on any sides of the argument but being able to critic a game doesn't mean you hate it: it often comes out of love for it.

[3gremlins]

i finally finished a legendary lost sector (solo) and got one of these blasted gated exotics on my warlock (had to farm it x5 times tho).

[image description: screenshot from destiny 2 showing the "Lost in Legend" seasonal challenge is completed: the player has completed a lost sector on legendary or higher]

been trying to do it on hunter but it's way harder and more frustrating T.T

guess i'm a warlock main now (it's hard to beat arc warlocks this season tbf lil arc friend goes pew pew!), but GEEZ i sure hate how they've set this up as the only way to get these exotics

(also every guide is like "here's the best hunter build for farming legendary lost sectors" and the armor exotic is always one that's gated behind the lost sectors so it's like FAM, I AM TRYING TO GET THIS WHAT ELSE CAN I USE?!? )

i've also been working on the legendary lightfall campaign on warlock and i'm at the last mission and all the guides are like "this is actually really difficult, here is a way to cheese it because bungie hates us" which is a bad sign (i tried it a bit last night and am also stuck on the calus fight)

[vlazed]

To this person in prev tags, I get you. I’ll run you through it real quick because the reality is much sillier than you might expect.

To start, Final Fantasy as a series has entries that are fairly divorced from each other, each game is usually a self contained story. There are the occasional exceptions, but those are usually limited to a one off sequel or whatnot.

The exception to this is, of course, Final Fantasy VII.

Because of the astronomical success of the game, Square has proceeded to milk the everloving HELL out of the game and its world by producing an ever increasing number of spinoffs and sequels. Here they are in the order of release:

Final Fantasy VII: The first game in the “Compilation of Final Fantasy VII”. What you’d expect.

Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII: a Prequel to the first game about a group of villains in the game, that was, get this, released for a flip phone. I’m not kidding. There really isn’t any good way to play it now outside of a fan remake because of that.

Final Fantasy VII Snowboarding: A snowboarding game that is a spinoff of the snowboarding minigame featured in Final Fantasy VII. I don’t think this one is canon but maybe I’m wrong.

Dirge of Cerberus: Final Fantasy VII: A third person shooter that acts as a sequel to the original game, following one of the party members, Vincent Valentine. People, uh, really don’t like this one.

Dirge of Cerberus: Lost Episode: Final Fantasy VII: A mobile phone game midquel to the previously mentioned Dirge of Cerberus. I’ll be honest, I didn’t know this one existed until I checked the list of compilation releases.

Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII: A prequel to the original Final Fantasy VII that follows a friend of the main character, Cloud Strife, and provides context for some events in the original game. Its existence sorta spoils a plot point from the first game but shhhhh

Final Fantasy VII G-Bike: A mobile racing game where you play as the main character of the first game. Probably the first time I’ve seen Wikipedia label a game as both “racing” and “hack-n-slash”. I also didn’t know about this one until researching this.

Final Fantasy VII: Remake: What you THINK would be a straight up remake of the first game, but, uh, only sorta. Its a bit of a sequel, a bit of a meta-commentary, a bit of a genuine remake, its… its a lot.

Did I mention its part of a three part series that is still going?

Because it is. We’ll get to the rest.

Final Fantasy VII: The First Soldier: A battle royale game featuring the titular SOLDIERs from the game. I really have nothing else to say that could make it better than it is. A Battle Royale Spinoff for a PS1 RPG. Wonderful.

Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII: Reunion: A remake of the previously mentioned Crisis Core. No fancy bells or whistles for this one though, a pretty faithful remake from what I’ve heard, so technically not a separate entry in the canon.

Final Fantasy VII: Ever Crisis: A mobile gacha game that both retells the story of previous entries while providing some backstory for the villain of the first game.

Final Fantasy VII Rebirth: The second part in the Remake Trilogy. This one isn’t out yet, but what I said about Remake probably applies here too.

Unnamed Third Part of the Remake Trilogy: See above. We don’t know anything about this one yet.

-Annnd that's it, for GAMES. Because there is technically more if we expand the range past the realm of things you can play. I'll go over them real quick but they're less relevant for the whole "Which FF7 is the best FF7" joke unless you want to genuinely argue that the best Final Fantasy VII is a movie. (Which, hey, more power to you if you do.)

Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children: An animated sequel to the original game, following the fallout of its story. It's a bit divisive, but at least it's well animated.

Last Order: Final Fantasy VII: A 2D animated retelling of one of the flashbacks from the original game. Really isn't notable outside of being a slight subject of debate in the fandom due to characters saying or doing things they may have not in canon.

On the Way to a Smile: Final Fantasy VII: A collection of novels that elaborate on and fill in the gaps of FFVII and Advent Children, along with what happened to the characters after the fact.

This one is notable for having a character, who was part of the main group that fought against the energy company destroying the planet in the first Final Fantasy VII, rediscover a new, cleaner energy source.

What is this revolutionary, clean source of energy? Oil. I wish I was kidding. Great writing, guys.

But, yes, that should be everything. Every "Final Fantasy VII" I could dig up. It's... a lot, to say the least. Should any of it exist? Debatable. Is it silly that all of these are spinoffs of one entry in the Final Fantasy series, which currently has 16 different numbered entries? Absolutely.

It's super convenient for trolling purposes that nearly every game that's popularly claimed to be the Best Game Ever is part of a massive, endlessly serialised franchise, because it means you can always derail a discussion by playing the not-even-the-best-X-in-the-Y card (e.g., "Ocarina of Time isn't even the best game in the Legend of Zelda series", "Symphony of the Night isn't even the best game in the Castlevania series", etc.), but I have to give special recognition to Final Fantasy VII for making it possible to argue with a straight face that Final Fantasy VII isn't even the best Final Fantasy VII.

[prayerith]

now that i’ve watched advent children my next foray into the ff7 catalog is dirge of cerberus (which i already have a completely legitimate version of downloaded on my completely legitimate ps2 wink wink etc)

i have heard it’s Mid but unfortunately my thirst for ff7 content must be fully quenched and that includes all the mid stuff

[hanasnx]

“ SHE JUST WENT TO HEAVEN AND BACK ” — clark kent.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ WARNINGS: fem reader ノ established relationship ノ sexual content: riding dick ノ playing dumb for a boy ノ some light humping ノ reader has kinda long hair ノ size difference.

you’re so desperate for clueless CLARK KENT’s attention that you play dumb and get him to mansplain his video game to you while you sit in his lap. he’s been busy lately and to get him to take the hint you wear one of your shortest skirts, invite yourself into the best seat in the house, and ask, “what’s this?” gesturing to his lit tv screen.

he explains it all, some boring lore he’s really into and the controls and the tricky part he’s stuck on right now.. and you resist the urge to roll your eyes at him. his pretty girl is sitting in his lap and he’s not even paying it any mind. but clark is paying it mind. he’s rambling bcos he’s nervous, and if you’d turn your head you’d see the pink dusting his cheeks. he can feel your bare thighs through his denim, and your floral shampoo fills his nose… he trails off mid sentence when he focuses too hard on the growing interest in his pants.

“i wanna play.” you say when you’ve had enough of his aimless babble, and without thinking it through, clark places the controller snugly in your palms, while his larger hands overlay yours.

“alright, so this button…” his thumb atop yours presses down in a click, and you see the avatar swipe air with his sword because of it. “is your attack move… and this—“ you’re not paying any attention to what he’s teaching you. instead, your brain conjures up evil memories of everything you’ve been missing. your eyes wander to the corner of his bed he’s sitting on, and you wish he’d fold you over on it like before. wrestle you down and pin you so he could flip your little skirt up and get to work. you’re tuning out his words while he’s playing the game over your hands which dampen with sweat, suddenly hot and bothered at the thought of him fucking you in this position… if only he were brave enough to unbuckle his pants.

your lips press together, your heart rate quickens, and clark’s ears perk up. thump thump… thump thump… thump thump…

he inhales sharply, right as the sting of what it feels like to be filled by him shoots up your core like lightning. you jump in place a little at the cruel trick your mind is playing on you, and the friction of your ass bumping against his halfie makes it twitch as it chubs up. the avatar’s HP lowers little by little as its enemies overwhelm it, but neither of you move.

“why didn’t you say anything?” clark’s breathless words come out husky and sultry as he chuffs them out of his teeth, lifting you up and down by your hips like you’re nothing more than a weight at the gym. your hands lay atop his, twisting your face as that cock buries itself right where you needed it, bullying that spongy spot in you sore from neglect. “i’ve been thinking about you, too…” he fills the silence, paired with the wet sounds of an eager pussy swallowing him up. he yanks you back, and you land on his chest still clothed, your hair bunches up on his shoulder while his lips find your ear. your hips now married with his, he rolls yours, screwing his dick into you like he’s rediscovering all your nooks n crannies.

one arm rounds you to secure you against him in a warm embrace, seeking out your clit between your spread legs, toying with it like taffy and it makes you whine.

“you didn’t have to act like you cared about my game,” he’s taunting you, right in your ear, ending it with a gentle nip of his teeth to your shell. the point of his canine sends a shock through you, and your legs straighten involuntarily. he keeps you where he wants you with overpowering strength, you can’t raise yourself when he’s got you in a vice. his thumb and index feel cruel against your bud, as if chastising you for trying to trick him.

“well, it worked, didn’t it?” you exhale, leisurely squirming against him desperate for some movement. there’s pride in your voice.

“this skirt worked.” he corrects. the skirt now bunched up around your waist about the same time he’d pushed his denim out of the way so he could free his cock and give you a new seat. “could hear your heartbeat, you were so obvious… c’mere.” he grants your wish for more, pushing you forward so he could gather your arms behind you. bent, your feet barely toe the ground while he uses your wrists to leverage you, tugging you back while he bounces you up with the force of his hips.

[arkaiveofurown]

sitting on his lap

Pairings: Zoro x Reader, Sabo x Reader, Law x Reader, Ace x Reader

Word Count: ~1,000 words

tags: suggestive, fluff (?)

my masterlist here ♡

——

Zoro

The Sunny’s crow’s nest smells of steel and sweat, the late-night breeze slipping through the open hatch as you climb up to find Zoro mid-training, shirtless, katanas resting against the wall. His chest heaves, muscles glistening under the moonlight, and he glances over with a grunt.

“What’re you doin’ up here?” he asks, wiping his face with a towel, his tone gruff but not unwelcoming.

Below, you can hear Sanji’s flirtatious banter with Nami, the crew’s usual chaos a distant hum.

You shrug, leaning against the doorway.

“Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d bug you instead of sittin’ on some boring deck chair,” you say, a smirk playing on your lips.

Zoro snorts, sitting on a bench, spreading his legs slightly as he gestures to his lap with a nod.

“Fine. Park yourself here if you’re gonna waste my time.”

Your stomach flips, but you don’t back down, crossing the small space and settling onto his lap, the heat of his bare skin burning through your clothes. His hands hover awkwardly for a moment before resting on your hips, firm and unapologetic.

“Didn’t think you’d actually do it,” he mutters, voice rough, his good eye scanning you with a mix of suspicion and something hotter.

You grin, shifting to get comfortable, feeling the hard planes of his thighs beneath you.

“What, thought I’d be scared of the big bad swordsman?” you tease, poking at his chest.

His grip tightens, a low growl rumbling from him.

“Keep runnin’ your mouth, and you’ll see how bad I can be,” he shoots back, the edge in his tone sending a thrill through you.

“Oh, I’m shakin’,” you reply, sarcastic, leaning back against him, your head brushing his shoulder.

“You should be,” he grunts, one hand sliding up your side, calloused fingers rough against your skin. “Or you wanna find out how sharp my edge really is?”

The back-and-forth cuts deeper, tension coiling tight.

“All talk, Zoro. Where’s the action?” you challenge, turning to face him, your legs straddling his lap now, the position bold and intimate.

His jaw clenches, and his hands grip your waist hard, pulling you flush against him.

“Fuck, you’re askin’ for it,” he growls, his breath hot against your neck as he leans in, teeth grazing your skin.

“Then give it to me, tough guy,” you murmur, fingers tangling in his green hair, tugging just enough to make him hiss.

His control slips, and he shifts beneath you, the hard bulge in his pants pressing insistently against your core, sparking heat that pools low in your belly.

“Damn it, you’re gonna regret this,” he warns, voice thick with need, his hand slipping under your shirt to grip bare skin, rough and demanding.

“Make me,” you dare, rolling your hips against him, earning a guttural groan as his fingers dig into your flesh, the promise of raw, unrestrained heat hanging in the air.

The crow’s nest creaks under the weight of your shared tension, the night swallowing every sound except the harsh rasp of his breath against your ear.

——

Sabo

Smoke curls from a nearby campfire as the Revolutionary Army’s temporary base hums with quiet tension. You’re hunched over a map with Sabo in a dimly lit tent, the flickering lantern casting shadows across his scarred face. His gloved hand brushes yours as he points to a supply route, and the contact—brief, accidental—sends a jolt through you.

“You’re distracted,” he says, voice calm but edged with amusement, his sharp eyes flicking up to meet yours.

Koala’s voice cuts in from outside the tent, teasing, “Don’t let Sabo bore you to death with strategy, y’know!”

You smirk, shaking your head.

“Nah, I’m just tired of sittin’ on this hard-ass crate,” you grumble, stretching with a dramatic sigh.

Sabo leans back in his chair, a rare playful glint in his gaze.

“Well, I’ve got a better spot if you’re game,” he offers, patting his lap with a subtle, challenging tilt of his head.

Your heart skips, but you play it cool, raising a brow.

“Oh? Think I won’t take you up on that, Chief of Staff?” you quip, standing and stepping closer.

His smirk widens as you lower yourself onto his lap, the fabric of his coat rough against your thighs, his body solid and warm beneath you.

“Didn’t peg you for shy,” he murmurs, his tone dipping low, one hand resting lightly on your back to steady you.

You scoff, shifting to get comfortable, acutely aware of every point of contact.

“Shy? Nah, I just don’t wanna break your fancy noble legs,” you tease, and his quiet laugh sends a thrill through you.

“Trust me, I can handle a lot more than you think,” he replies, his voice smooth, suggestive, his fingers pressing just a bit firmer against your spine.

“Oh, really? Care to test that theory?” you challenge, turning slightly to face him, your knee brushing his side.

His eyes darken, and the air between you crackles.

“Keep talkin’ like that, and I might just show you,” he says, his free hand hovering near your thigh, teasing but not quite crossing the line—yet.

The banter flows, each jab and retort building a slow, simmering heat.

“You’re all talk, Sabo. Where’s that revolutionary spirit now?” you taunt, leaning closer, your breath mingling with his.

His grip tightens, pulling you flush against him, and his lips curve into a dangerous smile.

“Careful what you wish for. I don’t play fair when I’m provoked,” he warns, his thumb tracing a slow circle on your lower back.

Your pulse races as you tilt your head, lips inches from his.

“Good. I don’t want fair. I want trouble,” you whisper, and his restraint snaps for a fleeting moment—his hand slides to your hip, firm and possessive.

“Fuck, you’re pushin’ it,” he growls, shifting beneath you, the tension of his body evident, the hard press of him against you igniting a fire in your core.

“Then do somethin’ about it,” you dare, your fingers threading through his blond hair, tugging lightly.

His breath hitches, and he leans in, lips brushing your neck as he murmurs, “Keep this up, and I’ll have you pinned against this map in two seconds flat.”

The promise hangs heavy, your skin tingling where his mouth grazes, the tent suddenly far too small for the heat exploding between you.

——

Law

The Polar Tang’s engine hums deep below deck, the dim light of the control room casting Law’s sharp features in stark relief. You’re perched on a crate, watching him scribble notes in his medical journal, his coat slung over a chair, leaving his inked arms bare.

“You’ve been starin’ for five minutes straight,” he says without looking up, his voice dry, cutting through the quiet.

Bepo’s muffled snoring echoes from the next room, a reminder of the crew’s rare downtime.

You shrug, swinging your legs.

“Just wonderin’ how you don’t get tired sittin’ in that stiff chair all day,” you reply, a teasing lilt in your tone.

Law’s golden eyes flick up, piercing, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“If you’re so concerned, I’ve got a better seat right here,” he says, leaning back and gesturing to his lap with a casual, almost clinical precision that somehow feels loaded.

Your breath catches, but you mask it with a grin, hopping off the crate.

“Don’t mind if I do, Captain,” you say, sauntering over and settling onto his lap, the hard lines of his frame unyielding beneath you.

His smirk doesn’t waver, but his hand rests on your thigh, light yet deliberate, sending a spark through you.

“Comfortable?” he asks, voice low, almost a purr, as he tilts his head to study you.

“Could be worse,” you shoot back, shifting slightly, feeling the subtle tension in his grip.

“Didn’t think you’d actually take me up on it,” he admits, his tone dipping into something warmer, less guarded.

You lean in a fraction, testing the waters.

“What, thought I’d chicken out? You don’t scare me, Law.”

His eyes narrow, a dangerous glint flashing through them.

“Careful. I’m not as predictable as you think,” he warns, his fingers tightening just enough to make your pulse jump.

“Oh? Gonna show me somethin’ new, then?” you challenge, your hand brushing his collar, lingering near the ink of his tattoos.

The exchange sharpens, words slicing through the charged air.

“You’re playin’ a risky game,” he murmurs, his free hand sliding up to your waist, slow and calculated, like he’s dissecting every reaction.

“And if I am? You gonna cut me open, doc?” you tease, your voice breathy, daring him to push further.

His smirk turns predatory, and he pulls you closer, the heat of him searing through your clothes.

“Might just dissect every damn inch of you if you keep talkin’ like that,” he growls, his thumb brushing the edge of your hip, teasing the skin beneath.

Your breath hitches as you grind down subtly, earning a low, rough sound from his throat.

“Fuck, don’t start what you can’t finish,” he warns, his grip turning possessive, guiding your movements with surgical precision.

“Who says I can’t finish?” you whisper, lips hovering near his, feeling the hard length of him press against you through the fabric.

His eyes darken to molten gold, and his hand slips under your shirt, fingers splaying across your bare skin as he mutters,

“Then let’s see how much you can take before you’re beggin’.”

The promise sends a shiver down your spine, his touch igniting every nerve as the room’s hum fades into the pounding of your own heartbeat.

——

Ace

The deck of the Moby Dick sways under a crimson sunset, the air thick with salt and the distant roar of waves. You’re leaning against the railing, watching Ace toss a playful fireball into the sky, the flames licking the dusk before fizzling out. His grin, wide and reckless, pulls at something deep in your chest.

“Oi, you gonna stand there gawkin’ all day, or come closer?” he calls out, wiping sweat off his brow, his tattooed arm flexing with casual strength. Marco, perched nearby on a barrel, chuckles low.

“Careful, Ace, don’t burn her with that hothead charm of yours.”

You roll your eyes but step forward, the wooden planks creaking underfoot. Ace’s dark eyes lock on yours, daring, teasing, as he pats his thigh with a smirk.

“Got a seat right here if you’re tired of standin’.”

You hesitate, pulse quickening, but his playful taunt—“What, scared of a little heat?”—pushes you over the edge.

“Fine, hotshot, don’t cry if I steal your spot,” you shoot back, striding over and sliding onto his lap with a boldness you don’t fully feel. His thighs are firm beneath you, warm even through the fabric, and his breath hitches for half a second before that cocky grin returns.

“Damn, didn’t think you’d actually do it,” he murmurs, voice low, his hand hovering near your waist like he’s testing the waters.

You shift slightly, feeling the heat of his skin, the faint scent of ash and sea clinging to him.

“Thought you liked surprises, Ace. Or am I too much for you?”

Your words drip with challenge, and his laugh rumbles through his chest, vibrating against you.

“Oh, darlin’, you’re playin’ with fire now. I don’t back down easy.” His fingers graze your hip, light but deliberate, sending a shiver up your spine.

Around you, the crew’s noise fades—Thatch whistling somewhere, Vista barking orders—but all you hear is Ace’s teasing drawl.

“So, you gonna stay here all night, or you got other plans to mess with my head?”

The conversation stretches, each word a spark fanning the tension.

“Mess with your head? Please, I’m just keepin’ you grounded,” you retort, leaning back against his chest, feeling his heartbeat pick up. His arm finally loops around your waist, pulling you tighter, and his lips brush near your ear.

“Grounded, huh? Feels more like you’re settin’ me ablaze.”

His voice is husky now, suggestive, and you turn your head just enough to catch his gaze—dark, hungry, but still laced with that boyish mischief.

“Careful, Ace, I might just fan those flames,” you whisper, your hand resting on his chest, fingers tracing the edge of his open shirt.

He groans softly, a sound that shoots heat straight through you.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, his grip tightening as he shifts you on his lap, the friction deliberate and maddening.

The world narrows to the heat between you, the slow grind of your hips against him, and his low growl of “Keep that up, and I’m draggin’ you below deck right now.”

Your breath catches as his hand slides lower, thumb brushing the edge of your thigh, daring you to push further into this dangerous game.

[nerdlog]

Pretty much the only reason I don't actively hate Skyrim is because Bethesda didn't plug their skinner box into a microtransaction hell scape like in fallout 76. Pretty much everything about Skyrim is just dumbed down RPG mechanics to the point that a 2012 preteen could pick it up and play.

the thumbnail title combo was really getting to me i wanted to scroll by and forget it but it was worming into my brain and biting me. so i thought well maybe he doesnt actually think this maybe he is baiting little freaks like me i need to watch before making any rash comments and 4 minutes in says how skyrim has so much content that is at maximum quality and i had to leave. brother i think you have to move on

[hangesophtalmologist]

playing with fire burns like hell

part 1

previous name: the salesman’s obsession

part 1, (part 2)

pairing: squid game's salesman/ recruiter x f!reader

synopsis: when someone dares to interrupt his game, the infamous salesman ought to punish them... but she doesn't intend to play by his rules.

warnings: violence, physical assaut, social stigma, psychotic mc, squid game au

a/n: we shall give the people what they asked for (salesman x readers) (i'm people)

The slap rang out like a gunshot, ricocheting off the cold subway walls. The man on the ground – disheveled, panting – flinched. His cheek blossomed red, but he didn’t dare look up. Above him, the Salesman stood poised, palm still tingling. His eyes were bright but empty, the light behind them clinical, dissecting.

"Come on now, one more try,” he taunted. His voice was smooth, almost musical and weightless, as if he were suggesting a game of chess. "Don’t stop at three. You’ll regret that more.”

It wasn’t joy he was feeling. Amusement, merely. Detached, surgical. Like stepping on something fragile just to hear the crack. The pathetic, the desperate – they all crumbled the same way. He just had to give them a little push, and their precious facade fell apart, leaving behind the twitching core of greed, ready to humiliate itself for scraps.

The sweating businessman bent to pick up his red tile, trembling. His shoulders sagged under the weight of silent despair. Miserable. The Salesman’s lips curled, though not exactly enough to be called a smile. He enjoyed the process. The inevitability of it.

Another failure.

He raised his hand, licking his lips in anticipation, but before he could swing, something unexpected happened. A hand grabbed his wrist.

Firm. Unshaking.

Cold.

His head snapped to the side; the sharp turn of a predator interrupted mid-hunt.

You.

His gaze narrowed. He’d noticed you earlier, lingering on the platform’s edge. Background noise. He rarely missed details, but somehow you had slipped through the cracks. Perhaps that was the first red flag.

His gaze drifted over your hand, slender fingers circling his wrist like a cuff. He could break free easily. Yet he didn’t. Your grip felt… deliberate. Measured.

“Enough,” you said, cocking your head to the side, sly eyes scrutinizing him.

His expression shifted, just slightly. Interest flickered, not outwardly hostile, but curious. He searched your face for clues – that familiar, nauseating blend of pity and self-importance most saviours carried. Yet, your eyes betrayed neither. But he didn’t need any tells – he knew people like you. Hypocrites yearning for crumbs of recognition.

“And who might you be?” His voice retained its warmth, but irritation simmered beneath it.

You stepped between him and his trembling opponent, your hand falling away. “Doesn’t matter.”

His gaze darkened as annoyance started to seep in his body. He didn’t even watch as the man behind you scrambled to his feet, disappearing into the crowd like prey escaping a hunter. His focus was entirely on you now – the intruder. He examined you for long time – longer than what he was used to. The Salesman never cared much for remembering anyone other than his recruits – but there was something about the lines of your face, the crooked slope of your mouth, the mischief in you pupils. Something challenging. Something he wanted to crush.

"You just cost me 100,000 won," he said lightly, adjusting his cufflinks with meticulous care – but the tightness in his jaw betrayed the casual tone. "So. How do you plan to pay me back?"

You shrugged, defying. “I don’t plan to.”

His grin widened, but the glint in his eyes sharpened. “I see. Then I’ll have to take it from you. A slap or cash. Choose.”

“I have a better idea,” you smirked, lazily flicking the red tile between your fingers. “I’ll take his place. I want to play too.”

His smile faltered. The thrill flickered out, but simply for a second – you weren’t desperate, not twitchy or ashamed. Not his typical prey. Yet. Because after all, if you wanted to play, it was because you wanted money – like everyone else.

He just needed to crack your confident mask to see you scrambling for it.

A chuckle escaped his mouth, hunger for your humiliation gnawing at his stomach. He wanted to see your heroic aspirations slapped out of your mind until you were nothing more than the lowlives he usually dealt with.

Yes. This would be even more fun to watch.

His smirk returned, though colder. “Fine. Each loss costs 100,000 won. Can you pay?”

“Don’t worry. I won’t lose.”

Your smugness stirred something primal in him—something ugly, something he hadn’t felt in years. You flipped the red card over your fingers, defiance oozing off you. Then in a split second you hurled the tile to the ground with surprising force. There was no hesitation, no tension. He didn’t need to look down to know you had flipped the blue card over. He watched you carefully, waiting for the inevitable flicker of relief that most winners betrayed.

None came.

Your eyes had barely left him either, like you were also gauging his reaction. Your lips stretched in a predatory smile – a thrill of excitement ran down his veins.

“I paid the debt. Now let’s play for real,” you cheered, displaying a naïve smile, one that could have fooled him as genuine if there wasn’t a flick of calculation - measurement - behind the easy curve of your lips.

The Salesman was a man of control – he could recognize when someone was leading a game, and right now this someone wasn’t him. He wasn’t surprised when you succeeded again.

“You won,” he stated, but there was no satisfaction, no amusement – he was still hungry for your humiliation. He reached for his luggage. But your foot stopped him, stepping on it as you suddenly reduced the distance between them.

“Oh no, Mister. You must have misunderstood me,” you slowly leaned towards him and whispered against his face.

He should have seen it before – but it was only now, when you were inches away from him, that he finally noticed the spark of amusement hidden in your eyes. It wasn’t heroism, nor greed that animated you.

Danger. His heart raced with the adrenaline that was reserved for his favourite kills, an all-too-powerful feeling that welcome your next words.

“I wasn’t playing for money.”

And then with sudden, brutal efficiency, you slapped him. Hard. Hard enough to send him stumbling on his feet and wipe any thought from his mind.

The crack resounded louder than his own had.

His head jerked to the side, pain stinging his cheek. Silence stretched between you. The slap burned, but not as much as the unfamiliar sensation curling in his gut.

Your laugh cut through the quiet, light and playful, but dripping with something – something mad.

He scoffed, bringing a hand to massage his cheek. It was stinging, the only proof that the last seconds had happened. When he looked back at you, you had tilted your head in an innocent expression.

But your conniving smirk was taunting him. “I get you now; it is quite fun. Have a nice day, Mister.”

You turned and walked away, your figure shrinking under the flickering subway lights.

The Salesman didn’t follow. Not immediately.

He watched you disappear into the station, the flickering fluorescent lights overhead casting fractured shadows on the tiles.

He stayed rooted, fingers twitching at his side, replaying the moment. Over and over.

Then, without warning, he laughed. Deep, unhinged, shaking laughter that echoed through the empty station. His stomach twisted with hunger, sharper and more vicious than he had felt in years.

You.

You weren’t a prey.

No, you were something far more valuable.

You were a challenge.

And he would break you. Piece by piece.