#Other than that... The animation was very good in the first part and very bad in the second ajhvahjedbf

[nickythehickey]

random sfth longform hcs bc idk

(under cut bc its long)

for no real reason other than my own projection, johnny and janae both have arfid. their parents had the “you can just force kids out of being picky eaters” mindset and didn’t give a singular fuck about actually helping them with it, so by the time tnutb takes place its pretty severe for both of them. luckily their individual aversions line up in a way where for the most part they can trade the things one of them can’t eat but the other can (this doesn’t work for everything though- good luck ever getting either of them to consume a mushroom, those are the devil from the bible)

one of the first things frankie ever stole was a stuffed animal for donnie when they were young and perhaps donnie was sick or just having a particularly hard time

nigel and lord lafayette are related. not necessarily super closely, but there's definitely a family connection there

janet had really bad morning sickness the entire time she was pregnant with peter. she considers it karma.

meth wife if self medicating something with the drugs she does. haven't decided what. also she might actually do heroin bc i think sam was mixing up the two (he says its meth but acts like its heroin)

amanda came out to her dad completely unintentionally while high after getting her wisdom teeth out

i've already briefly addressed the "characters played by luke with glasses also have glasses" hc here, but titch also has glasses. he hates it, thinks they're annoying af to deal with, prefers contacts whenever possible

poppy and tobias bring mario and bertie pretty much anywhere and everywhere they’re allowed to, and they get anxious/lonely very quickly whenever they’re apart from them

johnny's future dreams were very mundane at first and got more catastrophic/nightmarish as he got older. yea tis projection again

not my idea, but i like the idea of jasper apprenticing under margery at some point

pumpkin ice cream is objectively the best ice cream and derek will fight you if you claim otherwise

clarissa uses hallmark movies as genuine fashion inspo- and somehow pulls it off???

bubba is such a hopeless romantic it's almost embarrassing. i mean flowers for every special occasion, love notes planted around the farm, "ao3 would tag this as tooth rotting fluff" levels of sap. he very firmly believes that being married to jeremiah is one of the best things that ever could've happened to him and it's a wonder how he wasn't the one to propose. jeremiah is definitely still the more practical one, but honestly he's just as sentimental and he adores how much of a sweetheart his husband is

absolutely feel free to add on your own i love reading them

[sskk-manifesto]

Ep 10!

[dalishious]

The Sanitized Lore of Dragon Age: The Veilguard

Tevinter is the heart of slavery in Thedas. This lore has been established in every game, novel, comic, and other extended material in the Dragon Age franchise to date that so much as mentions the nation. But in Dragon Age: The Veilguard, when we are finally able to actually visit this location for the first time… this rampant slavery we’ve heard so much about is nowhere to be found. It’s talked about here and there; Neve mentions The Viper has a history of freeing slaves, as does Rook themselves if they choose the Shadow Dragon faction as their origin, for example. But walking down the streets of Minrathous, you’d never know. Because Dragon Age: The Veilguard, for all its enjoyment otherwise, has one glaring issue: It’s too clean.

The world of Thedas is full of injustices. Humans persecute elves, fear qunari, and belittle dwarves. Mages of any race are treated like caged animals in most places. The nobility is corrupt. Although, Dragon Age has not always handled these injustices well, mind you. Many, many times I’ve found myself frustrated with moments that just feel like a Racism Simulator. But what makes it worth it, is when you can actually do something about it. These injustices are things that a good-aligned character strives to fight back against, maybe even for very personal reasons. Part of the power-fantasy for many minorities is that this fight feels tangible. I cannot arrange the assassination of a corrupt politician in real life, but I sure can get Celene Valmont stabbed to death in Dragon Age: Inquisition, for example. Additionally, these fictional injustices can be used to make statements on real life parallels, like any source of media. For example, no, the Chant of Light is not real, but acting as a stand-in for Catholicism, through a media analysis lens we can explore what the Chant of Light communicates on a figurative level.

When starting Dragon Age: The Veilguard and selecting to play as an elf – this should be unsurprising to anyone who is familiar with my bias towards them – I was fully prepared to enter the streets of Minrathous and immediately get called “knife-ear” or “rabbit”. But this did not happen. I thought perhaps it was just a prologue thing, but returning to Minrathous once again, there was not a single shred of disapproval from any NPC I encountered that wasn’t a generic enemy to fight. And even the generic enemies, the Tevinter Nationalist cult of the Venatori, didn’t seem to care at all that I was a lineage they deemed inferior before now. This is a stark difference from entering the Winter Palace in Dragon Age: Inquisition and immediately getting hit with court disapproval and insults. Are we now to believe that Tevinter has somehow solved its astronomical racism and classism problems in the ten years since the past game? Or perhaps are we to believe all the characters who have demonstrated Tevinter’s systemic discriminatory views were just lying or outliers? Because it makes absolutely no sense at all for this horribly corrupt nation to not have a shred of reactivity to an elven or qunari Rook prancing around. But here were are, and not a single NPC even recognizes my character’s lineage. And because this is so different from every single past game, it feels weird.

As an elf, you have the option to make a comment about how “too many humans look down on us” in one scene early in the game. You can also talk to Bellara and Davrin, the elven companions, about concerns that people won’t trust elves after finding out about the big bad Ancient Evanuris… but this is presented as if elves don’t already face persecution. It’s all so limited in scope that it could be all too easily missed if you are not paying very close attention, and coming into the game with pre-existing lore knowledge.

All this made it easy to first assume that the developers simply over-corrected an attempt to address the Racism Simulator moments. And if that was the case, than I would at least give credit to effort; they did not find the right balance, but they at least tried. However, the sudden lack of discrimination against different lineages in Dragon Age: The Veilguard is not the only sanitized example of lore present.

In Dragon Age: Origins, Zevran Arainai is a companion who is from the Antivan Crows; a group of assassins. He discusses in detail how the Crows buy children and raise them into murder machines through all kinds of torture. The World of Thedas books also describe how the Antivan Crows work, echoing what Zevran says and expanding that of the recruitment, only a select handful of those taken by the Crows even survive. When you start Dragon Age: The Veilguard as an Antivan Crow, you immediately unlock a re-used codex entry from the past, “The Crows and Queen Madrigal”, that says the following:

“His guild has a reputation to uphold. They are ruthless, efficient, and discreet. How would they maintain such notoriety if agents routinely revealed the names of employers with something as "banal" as torture.”

Ruthless, efficient, and discreet. Torture is banal. This is what the Crows were before Dragon Age: The Veilguard decided to take them in a very different direction. The Antivan Crows in this latest game are painted as freedom fighters against the Antaam occupation of Treviso. Teia calls the Crows “patriots”. And while I can certainly believe that the Crows would have enough motivation to fight back against the Antaam, given that it is in direct opposition to their own goals, I cannot understand why they are suddenly suggested to be morally good. They are assassins. They treat their people like tools and murder for money. Even as recent as the Tevinter Nights story Eight Little Talons, it is addressed that the Antivan Crows are in it for the coin and power, with characters like Teia being outliers for wanting to change that. It makes the use of the older codex all the more confusing, as it sets the Antivan Crows up as something they are no longer portrayed as.

I personally think it would have been really interesting to explore a morally corrupt faction in comparison to say, the Shadow Dragons. Perhaps even as a protagonist, address things like the enslavement of “recruits” to make the faction at least somewhat better. (They are still assassins, after all.) Instead, we’re just supposed to ignore everything unsavory about them, I suppose…

We could discuss even further examples. Like how the Lords of Fortune pillage ruins but it’s okay, because they never sell artifacts of cultural importance, supposedly. Or how the only problem with the Templar Order in Tevinter is just the “bad apples” that work with Venatori. I could go on, but I don’t think I have to.

It is because of all this sanitization, that I cannot believe this was simply over-correction on a developmental part. Especially when there is still racism in the game, in other forms. The impression I’m left with feels far deeper than that; it feels corporate. As if a computer ran through the game’s script and got rid of anything with “too much” political substance. The strongest statements are hidden in codex entries, and I almost suspect they had to be snuck in.

Between a Racism Simulator and just ignoring anything bad whatsoever, I believe a balance is achievable; that sweet spot that actually has something to say about what it is presenting. I know it is achievable, because there are a few bright spots of this that I’ve encountered in Dragon Age: The Veilguard too. For example, some of the codex entries like I mentioned, and almost all the content with the Grey Wardens thus far. It is a shame there is not more content on this level.

Dragon Age: The Veilguard is overall still a fun game, in my opinion. But it’s hard to argue that it isn’t missing the grit of its predecessors. The sharp edges have been smoothed. The claws have been removed. The house has been baby-proofed. And for what purpose?

-----

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[no-144444]

the grid: dealing with your childhood stuffed animal!

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featuring: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Franco Colapinto, Logan Sargeant, Daniel Riccardo, Liam Lawson, Charles LeClerc, Carlos Sainz, Arthur LeClerc, Ollie Bearman, Max Verstappen, Paul Aron, Jack Doohan.

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Oscar Piastri: cutie pie 

Bro is a gentleman through and through

He will tuck it in 

He always grabs it if it falls of the bed

When he washes it he calls it a ‘spa day’

Cutie patootie

During sex he does usually push it off the bed, but he puts them back after. (he understands it doesn't want to see that).

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Lando Norris: drama queen 

Could he complain more? 

He’s not even that jealous of it, he just doesn’t like when you’re cuddling with it instead of him.

When you do that, he will cling to you like his life depends on it, sighing and groaning every time you laugh at him. 

“Wow, I wish I had someone who could hold me right now, too bad you’re busy cheating on me..”

Drama queen. 

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George Russell: tentative 

He’s friendly with it, but he’s not its biggest fan. 

When he came into your room for the first time, he was quite startled by it.

But he’s grown to appreciate it. 

He knows all its name for sure, and when he’s putting it back, he puts them with its ‘friends’ 

(Bro has made up story lines in his head about it and your other teddies). 

Definitely got the stuffed-teddy version of himself that Mercedes has and gave it to you. 

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Lewis Hamilton: chill guy

He’s chill with it. 

He doesn’t make it a big deal, but sometimes if Roscoe isn’t in the room, he’ll talk to it about you while you're taking ages to get ready. 

Like pretending it can hear him and complaining like a sassy man.

You almost always throw a pillow at both of them.

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Kimi Antonelli: confused but supportive

Supportive, but he doesn’t really get it. 

He likes it, but when it ends up on the floor, he’s not immediately picking it up to take care of it. 

He does take lots of photos of it when you’re away.

It becomes his buddy when you have to travel, he brings it everywhere.

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Alex Albon: very much into it

Bro understands 

He also has one. 

They’re also in love.

When you both have to go away, you send each other pictures of your stuffed animals ‘missing’ each other. 

That’s what happens when you date someone for a long time. 

Cringe shit. 

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Logan Sargeant: complainer! 

Supportive, but will shove it off the bed every night. 

When you go looking for it, he’ll whine about  “You have me right here!”

Which never ends well. 

He ends up on the other side of the bed with a pillow between the two of you. 

But he always sneaks back over. 

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Franco Colapinto: gossip over anything

Again, supportive but confused. 

At the beginning he was like ‘that’s for kids’, but when he sees how much joy and comfort it brings you, he changes his tune. 

He loves that thing.

Like Lewis, NO.1 gossip partner when you’re taking ages to get ready. 

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Daniel Riccardo: IT’S A PART OF THE FAMILY 

Treats it like your child. 

Brings it everywhere with you

Even jokingly ra children buggy for it.

Made an Énchante design with it on it. 

Loves it. 

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Liam Lawson: menace to society 

His no.1 enemy. 

Hates it.

Hates that it gets more attention than him. 

Cannot stand it. 

Literally fights it. 

Throws it away from you at any chance he gets. 

He is a menace. 

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Charles LeClerc: hot and cold 

He’s on the fence with it.

Sometimes they’re on good terms, sometimes he chucks it across the room.

Will cuddle you and push the teddy away sometimes but will also go and find it for you if you need it. 

Duality of man!

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Carlos Sainz: liar

Literally makes fun of you for it, despite loving it himself.

He will bring it on bike rides and all that shit, only to take pictures of it for you.

But the second you start looking for it.

“Aren’t you a bit old for that?”

And every time you remind him that he takes it on bike rides, to which he responds “only for you!” which always ends up in a play fight of some sorts where you both are trying to get the stuffy. 

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Arthur LeClerc: beginning of his villain arc

He hates the damn thing.

He will hide it.

He will take it.

He doesn’t care. 

He hates it. 

Every fibre of his being hates it, only because you treat it like him. 

You tuck it in, cuddle it, always have it close. 

He is so jealous. 

When you kiss it? 

He actually screams. 

He demands like 5x more kisses than whatever it got. 

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Ollie Bearman: ummmm

Supportive, but also kind of tough-guy about it. 

“You don’t need that, you have me”

Rolls his eyes when you ask him to go find it because you know he hid it and you’re already comfy in bed. 

Goes and grabs it anyways

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Max Verstappen: passive aggression!

He’s fine with it.

Chill but not the biggest fan. 

Doesn't hide it or anything, just make passive aggressive comments when you cuddle it instead of him

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Paul Aron: he is a father 

Cutie patootie 

He again, treats it like your child. 

Takes it away with him sometimes.

Takes photos of it, and with it all the time. 

The teddy had gone on many a boys night, all of them taking photos with it. 

You have the entire F2 grid holding it for photos with Paul. 

Even fans know about it and love it. 

Brought it to the FIA gala and took photos on the red carpet with it since you couldn’t be there. 

It has become a legend in the F1 community so even the team principals and drivers asked to be in photos with it. 

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Jack Doohan: thief! 

Would rather die than admit that he love sit

Hides it, complains about it 

But secretly would kill for it. 

You find him cuddling with it sometimes.

He takes it on trips as a ‘reminder of you’, but you know it’s actually because he likes it a lot.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[vetyr]

hi, i ireally love your work and i don't know if you've answered this before but, what kinds of studies do you do or how did you learn color theory? i wanna get better at rendering and anatomy but im having trouble TT TT

Hi! Long answer alert. Once a chatterbox, always a chatterbox.

When I started actively learning how to draw about 10 1/2 years ago, I exclusively did graphite studies in sketchbooks. Here's a few examples—I mostly stuck to doing line drawings to drill basic shapes/contours and proportions into my brain. The more rendered sketches helped me practice edge control & basic values, and they were REALLY good for learning the actual 3D structure behind what I was drawing.

I'd use reference images that I grabbed from fitness forums, Instagram, Tumblr, Pinterest, and some NSFW places, but you could find adequate ref material from figure drawing sites like Line of Action. LoA has refs for people (you can filter by clothed/unclothed, age, & gender), animals, expressions, hands/feet, and a few other useful things as well. Love them.

Learning how to render digitally was a similar story; it helped a lot that I had a pretty strong foundation for value/anatomy going in. I basically didn't touch color at all for ~2 years (except for a few attempts at bad digital or acrylic paint studies), which may not have been the best idea. I learned color from a lot of trial and error, honestly, and I'm pretty sure this process involved a lot of imitation—there were a number of digital/traditional painters whose styles I really wanted to emulate (notably their edge control, color choices, value distributions, and shape design), so I kiiind of did a mixture of that + my own experimentation.

For example, I really found Benjamin Björklund's style appealing, especially his softened/lost edges & vibrant pops of saturated color, so here's a study I did from some photograph that I'm *pretty* sure was painted with him in mind.

Learning how to detail was definitely a slow process, and like all the aforementioned things (anatomy/color/edge control/values/etc.) I'm still figuring it out. Focusing on edge control first (that is, deciding on where to place hard/soft edges for emphasizing/de-emphasizing certain areas of the image) is super useful, because you can honestly fool a viewer into thinking there's more detail in a piece than there actually is if you're very economical about where you place your hard edges.

The most important part, to me, is probably just doing this stuff over and over again. You're likely not going to see improvement in a few weeks or even a few months, so don't fret about not getting the exact results you want and just keep studying + making art. I like to think about learning art as a process where you *need* to fail and make crappy art/studies—there's literally no way around it—so you might as well fail right now. See, by making bad art you're actually moving forward—isn't that a fun prospect!!

It's useful to have a folder with art you admire, especially if you can dissect the pieces and understand why you like them so much. You can study those aspects (like, you can redraw or repaint that person's work) and break down whether this is art that you just like to look at, or if it's the kind of art that you want to *make.* There's a LOT of art out there that I love looking at, probably tens of thousands of styles/mediums, but there's a very narrow range that I want to make myself.

I've mentioned it in some ask reply in the past, but I really do think looking at other artist's work is such a cheat code for improving your own skills—the other artist does the work to filter reality/ideas for you, and this sort of allows you to contact the subject matter more directly. I can think of so many examples where an artist I admired exaggerated, like, the way sunlight rested on a face and created that orange fringe around its edge, or the greys/dull blues in a wheat field, or the bright indigo in a cast shadow, or the red along the outside of a person's eye, and it just clicked for me that this was a very available & observable aspect of reality, which had up until that point gone completely unnoticed! If you're really perceptive about the art you look at, it's shocking how much it can teach you about how to see the world (in this particular case I mean this literally, in that the art I looked at fully changed the way I visually processed the world, but of course it has had a strong effect on my worldviews/relationships/beliefs).

Thanks so much for sending in a question (& for reading, if you got this far)! I read every single ask I receive, including the kind words & compliments, which I genuinely always appreciate. Best of luck with learning, my friend :)

[zomquette]

Game's Night

Pairing: Dary Dixon x Redaer

Summary:

In Alexandria, bedtime gets competitive when thin walls and loud neighbors spark a challenge Daryl and his partner can’t resist. What begins as playful banter turns into a full-blown, no-holds-barred contest for the title of Loudest Couple in the Safe Zone. Between aching muscles, smug remarks, and Dog’s betrayed groans, one thing’s clear by morning: the scoreboard isn’t even close.

Genre: Fluffy fluff fluff / established relationship / Daryl and reader bantering like an old married couple / eventual smut.

Warnings:

Explicit sexual content (18+), graphic smut, light dominance, praise kink?, playful sexual teasing, strong language, domestic fluff, aftercare?, mention of other characters’ sexual activity, minor injury (Daryl’s shoulder), Dog is unfortunately present but emotionally resilient.

Era: post Saviour's War, pre-bridge 

Author's note: Based on this idea by @dixondisease. Never written smut before but i've definetly read enough to like know what I am doing or at least i think i do anyway. This turned out to be wayy longer than i intented - i even had to put it in the smaller font hehe - so good luck finishing 💀. And before anyone bitches i know Dog isnt technically born yet but i wanted dog in this so shove it 🤭. This is just smut and fluff, very shameless. Enjoy 🙈

You closed the bathroom door with your hip, freshly brushed teeth still tingling, one hand dragging through your damp hair, the other tugging an oversized shirt down over your thighs. “You better not be getting crumbs in the bed again,” you mumbled through leftover toothpaste, the minty foam threatening to escape the corner of your mouth.

“Weren’t me,” Daryl called from the bed, already half-lounging, shirt open, one sock hanging on for dear life. He winced as he twisted to rub his shoulder.

You caught the motion immediately. “Mmm. Blame the dog all you want, but you were the one housing Carol’s cookies like you were in a hostage situation.”

He gave a soft, amused snort. “Least I ain’t the one leavin’ bobby pins in the sheets. Thought I got stabbed in the back last night.”

“Sounds like karma,” you said sweetly, coming to stand over him. “Karma for banning Dog from the bed when he’s clearly my emotional support animal.”

Dog, curled at the foot of the bed, lifted his head at his name and thumped his tail like he knew exactly which side he was on.

Daryl gave him a look. “He’s half a damn mattress. You’re the one always sayin’ you got no room.”

You crouched beside the bed, rummaging through a worn canvas bag until you found the tin Carol gave you. “Yeah, well, between him hogging the the bed and you flailing around like you’re in a bar fight with your dreams, it’s a miracle I get any sleep.”

You straightened and held the salve up. “And don’t even try that ‘I’m fine’ crap. I saw you breaking a sweat brushing your teeth earlier. Shirt off. Now.”

Daryl blinked at you. “Is this part where I get lucky, or the part where you put me in traction?”

“Both, if you play your cards right.”

He huffed and peeled the shirt off slowly. You stepped in and helped him when he winced, hands gentle but firm. The bruise was nasty, blooming purple over his shoulder.

You climbed up behind him on the bed, legs crossed, and dipped your fingers into the salve. The minty scent hit your nose first, sharp and clean. You worked it into the sore muscle, slow and steady. Daryl hissed, eyes slipping shut. “Told ya. Baby,” you teased.

“mkay this ain’t half bad”, he groaned, enjoying your touch.

You snorted. “That's right? Gonna start fake injuries now?”

He cracked one eye open. “Not if it means more of your talkin’.”

You softened, brushing your fingers gently over the angry bruise. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Only like me now?”

“I’m reserving love for when you stop dragging half the forest into the house with your boots.”

“That was one time. And it was your damn dog.”

“Blame the baby. Classic deflection.”

You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his temple as you finished rubbing in the salve. “There. all better. Now maybe you’ll stop sighin’ every time you roll over like you just filed taxes.”

“I don’t sigh,” he muttered.

"You do. Like a single father of two, workin’ double shifts.”

That got his attention. He turned toward you, as gracefully as his bum shoulder allowed, and gave you a flat look. “What?”

He glanced down at your stomach and back up at you again. “You got somethin’ to tell me?”

“…Oh right, yeah. I totally forgot to mention that I’m pregnant with twins and planning on leaving you for a guy who runs a gas station so you can raise little Daisy and Cameron in a shack by the river. Surprise.”

He squinted at you, deadpan. “The hell is wrong with you… A gas station?”

“Real fancy too. Slushie machine and everything.” 

He tried to give you his signature scowl but couldnt help  cracking a smile “Jesus woman-“

You raised an accusatory finger, ready to burst out laughing, “Wait, wait, hold up, you actually believed me there for a sec, didn't you?”

He huffed and reached to wipe your mouth with the pad of his thumb. “Yeah, well… you got toothpaste on your face, smartass. Ye done runnin’ yur mouth now? M’ tired.”

“Get in before Dog steals your spot.”

Daryl groaned as he eased under the covers, joints popping like bubble wrap. “If I throw my back out tryin’ to lie down, it’s your fault,” he muttered, pointing a finger at Dog who’d circled the bed twice and then parked himself at the very edge—smug, territorial, already snoring.

“You hear that?” Daryl told him. “No respect. Not from either of ya.”

“I respect you just fine,” you said, settling in beside him. “But only one of you farts under the covers.”

“Alrigh’, stop. Don’t gotta put up with this shit in ma own bed.”

You giggled. The room went still, soft and sleepy. He pulled you into him, arm curling tight around your waist, his nose brushing the curve of your neck.

“Better?”

“Much,” he murmured.

Perfect. Until the ceiling creaked. Loud.

You both froze.

Another noise followed. Rhythmic. Familiar.

“…Is that Michonne?” you whispered.

“And Rick,” Daryl muttered, glaring at the ceiling.

You blinked. “They are not—”

“Oh, they are.”

A beat of silence.

Then you grinned. “Wanna be louder?”

He groaned. “We’re not doin’ that.”

“Why?’ you teased, tuning your body to face him and leaning on your elbows to hover your face over his. “Scared you’ll lose?”

“I ain’t racin’ Rick.” He paused, deadpan. “Man sounds like he’s wrestlin’ a hog.”

You choked on a laugh. “Then prove it.” Oh god, he thought. You already had your crazy sex eyes on.

“You really wanna start that righ’ now?”

“Only if you’re gonna finish it.” You moved on top of him, straddling his torso, trying to read his expression for any sign of dismissal. You didn't find any. His hands flew to your waist like a reflex.

“You’re a damn menace.”

“And you’re stalling,” you hushed, brushing your lips against his

“Ain’t gonna be no damn competition,” he muttered. “Ain’t even gonna be close.”

Then his mouth was on yours.

It was the kind of kiss that knocked thoughts loose—hungry, open-mouthed, all tongue and teeth. You didn’t remember moving, didn’t realise your hips were grinding down on him until you felt the solid heat under you and his fingers dug into your waist.

“Jesus,” he groaned, voice ragged against your lips. “You tryin’ to kill me?”

You didn’t answer—just kissed him harder, messier, hands sliding up his chest to push him further into the mattress. He didn’t resist. He wouldn’t dare. Not with the way you were moving like you’d catch fire if you stopped.

His grip tightened as he bucked up against you, mouth dragging hot down your jaw. “Ain’t even been a minute and you’re already—”

“Yeah?” you gasped, rocking down with more purpose now, chasing friction. “You got a problem with that?”

“Hell no,” he growled, sliding one hand up under your shirt. “Just tryna keep up, woman—”

“Good,” you breathed, grinding harder now, needing more. “Then don’t fall behind.”

And just like that, the game was on.

He sat up to be parallel with you. His hands moved along your bare back from under your shirt, all while you moved deliciously against his crotch, your faces pressed together, lips moving in sync, and tongues crashing like tidal waves. You couldn't help but moan into his mouth pathetically. 

He moved to take off his your shirt, and in one swift, powerful motion, he tore the flannel open, sending the buttons flying. Like a drowning man, he latched onto your bare chest as if it were his sole air supply.

“Christ Daryl…” you breathed, tilting back, enjoying the feeling of his hot mouth on your breasts. Well, more specifically, your rock-hard nipples. He leaned into his sloppy kisses, lowering you to your back while he climbed on top of you. Gradually, he moved lower and lower down your abdomen, making you so dizzy that the banging of the headboard upstairs was indistinguishable from your racing heart. Before you knew it, your underwear was gone, and its place was Daryl’s hand. Needless to say, you much preferred his hand there instead of your underwear.

His he moved up to nibble on your earlobe, his fingers rubbing your clit. Was this what hypnosis was like? He could tell you to do damn near anything and you would bark yes if it meant he wouldnt stop. 

Your body had a mind of its own, grinding against his hand as you clawed at his boxers.

The short gruffs and ragged breathing in your ear sent electricity down your body and straight to where Daryl was apparently trying to summon a genie. You felt the heat pool there as the butterflies in your stomach failed to settle. It only made you even wetter. If you weren't so mind-numbingly turned on right now, you would shield yourself from the embarrassment that down there was like a Slip n’ Slide.

  “You done makin’ a mess or you gonna keep humpin’ my hand like your tryna start a fire?” 

Ugh, smug douchebag. You can practially see the stupid cocky face he has on now. It took a few tries, the breathe kept logdng in your throat as whimpers escaped your mouth, until you finally retorted. “oh screw you asshole.”

“Asshole, huh? Must be doin’ somethin’ right.” That earned a frustrated groan from you. Right now, you are sitting between cloud nine and hell with this teasing. You shoved his boxers down and wrapped your legs around his waist, locking him in his place. “Either you fuck me now or im going upstairs to join Rick and Michonne.”

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Lining himself up, he plunged into you without any warning. You couldn't breathe. Your body went limp with the feeling of him. You gasped for air as your body drank him in. God, he felt like he was up in your stomach.

“shit baby…” he groaned. It took everything in him not to completely lose it a drill into you right there, but he knew you needed a second to get used to the stretching feeling. 

“Daryl…. “ you squealed a moment later. Oblivious to him, if he didnt move within the next 5 seconds you woud just about combust. “please move”

It was practically spoken as a cry, your face scrunching up in need. He pressed his mouth to yours not a second later while he did what you asked, setting a steady pace, one that had you clawing at his back, his ass, his arms, hell, anything to ground you in the overwhelming pleasure he was spoon feeding you with a ladle. But you needed more. He needed to pick up the pace like you both wanted him to, or else you really were going to impale him with bobby pins.

“Ain’t even gonna be close,’ huh?” you bit out, breathless and flushed.  “Then why the hell are we still playin’?”

Daryl just smirked, hand dragging slowly over the curve of your hip like he had all the time in the world. “‘Cause I like hearin’ you talk tough,” he rasped. “Makes it real sweet when I shut you up.”

“You talk big, Dixon,” you growled, rocking down against him. “Now back it up.”

His hands flexed around your hip, yanking, moving you down to meet his thrust, causing you to yelp at the sensation. “You sure?” he murmured, eyes flicking up to meet yours, dark and hot. “‘Cause once I start, ain’t lettin’ you off easy.”

You glared, chest heaving. “Good. I don’t want easy.”

That did it. He moved his hand to your thigh and stretched it up to hook with his (good) shoulder, so you were completely sandwiched under him. The taster for what’s to come was one long, deep drag of his hips, which just about made your brain short-circuit. He chuckled at the fucked-out look on your face, “That mouth of yours’s gonna get you in trouble.”

“You promise?” you whispered, nails digging into his back. It didn't even sound like you when you said it, and yet you meant it. 

He huffed a laugh against your throat. “You’re about to wish I was still stallin’.” 

His hips began to pound into you, making you bounce with each unforgiving thrust. Your hair would be just short of a birds nest in the morning but all you could think about was daryls dick smacking into your pussy and making you feel like you had taken every recreational drug known to man.

“Fuck! Yes baby! Ohhh-“ The only way you could match the screams of pleasure that were coming from you was because after that, Daryl started muttering words of praise into your ears about how loud you were being. That’s great, buddy, just keep doing your thing, and ill gladly show this community the set of lungs I have on me.

The power with which he moved in and out of you, of course, had the headboard slamming against the wall so hard that Drayl would probably need to find some drywall tomorrow. The gross noises that your bodies made when joining together would have sounded like angels singing to you if it weren't for the noise of the headboard drowning it out… or your moans.

He dipped his head low, lips brushing your ear as your moan spilt out sharp and shameless.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he rasped, voice thick with approval. “Let ‘em hear it, baby. Let ‘em know who’s really winnin’ this little contest.”

 You clenched around him. God, you were so not gonna last. You would have cringed from embarrassment, but all of your dignity had vacated your body when you started squirming like a fish out of water.

Daryl let out a groan in response, peering down at your chest to see your breast jiggle up and down from his movements. “Atta girl. Let 'em know who’s giving it to ye this good.”

 You’d be lying if his words didn’t turn into mush, but who were you to take this lying down? 

“Maybe I’m just fakin’ it so i dont hurt your ego—oh, GOD— Daryl right there!”

He delivered a particularly brutal thrust to the spot he knew would send you over the edge. His pace was relentless, like he fucking hated you.  But that was far from the truth. The waves of pleasure he was single-handedly serving you said I love you better than any Valentine's note you had ever received in your opinion. The fricton between his pubic bone and your clit while he jammed himself into you repeatedly was a nice touch - to put it mildly.

“shit, shit, shit, baby your gonna make cum-“ it was so hard to speak full coherent sentences when he fucked you like this. The air from your lungs kept getting ejected every time he pounded into your cunt.

“That right?” Shit, you thought, he's using that voice he does when he speaks to judith. I'm done for. “Gonna come round this cock? Go ahead, baby, I gotcha”

“Ohhh fuck baby im cumming im cumming I’m- AH!”

Everything went white as every nerve in your body contorted with pleasure. It spread like a Mexican wave, starting from your lower abdomen and travelling all the way to your toes. The only thing reminding you that you hadn’t died and gone to heaven was Daryl’s erratic thrusts, which didn't falter; if anything, they sped up if that was even possible. He was chasing his own high. There were many things that turned you on in the world, but this was at the top of that list. Him going feral, using your body to guide him over the egde, hips stuttering and dick twitching inside of you. God, this was top-quality fuel for wet dreams.

He let out a few strangled moans before he came inside you, the feeling of him spilling inside of you made you grin with content, sighing like you were on a spa retreat. Except this retreat wasnt so much relaxing as it it was fucking mindblowing and would definitly reult in you walking funny.

His movements slowed, now just a soft rolling of his hips. You didn't want this to end. You wanted to stay like this forever. You were still breathless beneath him, and your heart was trying to remember how to beat in a rhythm that wasn’t wild. The weight of his body anchored you in place like gravity had finally done its job right.

Daryl was sprawled over you, chest heaving, forearm braced beside your head, trying not to crush you with the full weight of him, not that you minded. His skin was flushed and slick against yours, sweat cooling in the hollow between your breasts where his lips had been minutes ago.

He shifted slightly, lifting his head to look at you. Your skin was dewy, and you sported that after-sex glow that drove Daryl crazy. His hair hung down in damp, dishevelled strands, clinging to his temples. His eyes were heavy-lidded but alert, scanning your face.

“…You okay?” he asked, voice rough and warm, moving your hair from your face.

You couldn’t quite speak yet, so you gave a nod and a dopey smile. “Legs are noodles. Brain’s soup. So yeah. M’ great.”

That earned you the tiniest smirk, soft and crooked. “Good.”

His nose brushed yours before he leaned in to kiss you, slow and sweet this time. Nothing rushed. No competition. Just him, kissing you like he had all the time in the world. You melted into the kiss, humming contentedly, arms looping around his neck as he hugged you impossibly closer like you could disappear any second.

And above you, the ceiling had gone still. No more creaks. No more rhythmic thuds. No more Rick and Michonne ‘wrestling’ as they liked to call it.

You pulled back from the kiss with a dazed laugh. “Oh my god. They’re quiet now.”

Daryl blinked, then turned his head lazily to glare up at the ceiling like it had betrayed him. “Told ya. Ain’t even a contest.”

You giggled beneath him, threading your fingers through his hair. “Bet they heard us and got embarrassed.”

He huffed and rolled over you slowly, careful of your limbs as he settled at your side, immediately pulling you with him so you were nuzzled into his chest. You let him, splaying over him like it was instinct. His body was warm and solid and safe, the aftershocks of everything still tingling across your skin.

“I think I died for a minute,” you mumbled into his collarbone.

He chuckled against your hair. “Nah. Just blacked out. You’ll live.”

You swatted at him weakly. “Don’t be smug.”

“Too late,” he drawled. Then, quieter, brushing a thumb along your hip: “You’re real loud when you want somethin’.”

You grinned against his skin, your cheeks still flushed. “So are you.”

There was a moment of silence before you added, “Kinda proud of us.”

Daryl raised a brow. “Think we scared ‘em off?”

“Hell yeah, we did.”

You raised your arm in the air to gesture a fistbump, which he chuckled at, but nonetheless accepted. “Atta girl.”

You let out a happy sigh, his hand settling on your back again, moving slowly. Comforting. Claiming. Gentle in a way that made your heart grow a little.

From somewhere at the foot of the bed, Dog gave a low groan — the kind that sounded both scandalised and mildly betrayed.

You lifted your head, breath still uneven. “Oh Jesus, Dog, I’m so sorry—”

He was glaring. Or as much as a dog could glare. Ears flat, eyes narrowed, the judgment rolling off him in waves.

Daryl glanced down at him and snorted. “Don’t give me that look. You knew what this was.”

You buried your face in Daryl’s shoulder, laughing. “He’s mad ‘cause he’s not the favourite anymore.”

Daryl scoffed. “Was I even the favourite to begin with?”

You hummed, still grinning. “Don’t worry, baby. You’re both my good boys.”

Daryl raised an eyebrow, his voice low and smug. “Only one of us had you seein’ stars.”

You pulled back just far enough to give him a look. “Only one of you drools in his sleep.”

Daryl blinked, then smirked. “Says the woman who talks in her sleep.”

Your mouth dropped open in mock horror. “I do not.”

He shrugged, smug. “ I got woken up last week by you mutterin’ somethin’ about a peanut butter apocalypse.”

You chuckled, and Dog, ever the drama queen, flopped down with a heavy sigh, clearly done with both of you.

Daryl brushed your damp hair from your cheek, his thumb lingering at your jaw. “You alright?” he asked softly.

“Mhmm.” You leaned in to kiss him again, slower this time. “Better than alright.”

_______________________________________________________________

You sat at the table like someone recovering from a war injury. Every muscle in your body ached — wonderfully so, but they still hurt like a bitch — and breakfast was the last thing on your mind. Beside you, Daryl was the picture of serenity, casually sipping coffee like he hadn’t just destroyed your back six hours ago.

Rick gave you both a look. The kind that said he’d rather be literally anywhere else. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, poking at his eggs like they’d betrayed him. “Y’all don’t even try to be subtle, do you?”

“Didn’t know we had an audience,” Daryl said, not looking up from his mug.

Michonne arched a brow, clearly amused. “You didn’t need one. The walls are thin, Dixon. Thin.”

You winced and nursed your coffee like it could fix your dignity. You gave Daryl a knowing look and smirked, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Don’t apologise,” Michonne said, smirking. “Just… damn.”

Rick looked between the two of you again, brow furrowed. “That wasn’t a competition, right? Like — there was no actual scoreboard?”

You glanced sideways at Daryl, trying to hide your grin. “What do you think?”

Daryl gave a faint smirk, eyes fixed on his plate. “Told you it wasn’t gonna be close.”

God damn, you could go for round 5 right here on thid counter.

Rick groaned. “Oh, come on.”

Michonne laughed into her coffee. “That’s it. I’m sleeping on the couch from now on.”

From the hallway, Carl appeared, bleary-eyed and deeply unimpressed. “Why are you guys being weird?” he asked, grabbing a slice of toast.

Rick straightened. “We’re just having breakfast. Sit down.”

Carl shook his head. “Not today. Not when the house sounds like a zoo at night. I’m taking this to my room. And since when did we bring back rules from the old world?”

He walked off without waiting for a reply.

You, Daryl, Rick and Michonne all burst out laughing.

You leaned into Daryl’s shoulder and murmured just loud enough for him to hear, “Guess we won the gold, huh?”

He didn’t answer — just rested his hand on your thigh under the table and squeezed, smug as hell.

[vibelladonna]

❛ 𝑔𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 ❜ 𝜗𝜚 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝓍 𝑔𝓃!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Half a brutal week of finals, your idea of short recovery is simple: horror games, dim lights, and your boyfriend Sol breathing in your ear through voice chat like he isn’t actively trying to ruin your focus. It was supposed to be just another cursed indie night — you, the monster, and a few well-aimed insults...

...until Sol’s reactions hijack the match entirely. One death screen, one whispered apology, and one desperate Discord call later, and suddenly you’re the one getting hunted — not by pixelated nightmares, but by your very real, very flushed, very wrecked boyfriend begging for your attention like his life depends on it. Turns out, surviving finals was the easy part.

…Surviving him? Yeah, good luck with that.

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉: soooo, on April 7th, while I was supposed to be studying for my psych and chem midterms, I stumbled across some [ art ] by @bonw0n — and yeah, I was this close to dropping everything to write this immediately. I behaved… mostly. Might’ve snuck a few "study breaks" to get some of it out. I’ve seen others write for this request too, so here’s my take — hope you love it, dearest.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓈: sol x gn! reader, smut, masturbation, voyeurism, mutual pining, voice kink, begging, desperate sol, one-sided voice chat (at first), tension so thick you could choke on it, accidentally turning him on, slight corruption kink if you squint, dirty thoughts two idiots falling harder than they realize, and sol is down bad and it’s so funny.

April is hell for college students. fucking tell me about...

Anyone who says otherwise has either dropped out, is lying, or majors in something unserious like something dumb—underwater basket weaving.

It’s exam season—a month-long bloodbath where coffee becomes a food group, sleep is theoretical, and your notes look like they were written by a madman mid-breakdown. You’ve been living in libraries, buried in color-coded flashcards and PDF textbooks you don’t even remember downloading. Your backpack weighs more than your will to live, and your playlist? Just sad lo-fi beats and the occasional mental breakdown.

But you did it.

You clawed your way through a few of your finals already, each one more cursed than the last. You turned in essays with hands that felt like claws, circled scantron bubbles like your life depended on it. And when the last “Submit” button was pressed today—you didn’t cry.

You almost did. But instead, you stared at your ceiling for twenty minutes contemplating existence… then decided to not kill yourself with another night of studying.

Tonight? You earned a break. And your poison of choice?

Well, overall, after exams, most people do one of three things:

Talk about the exam like it was a shared war trauma.

Vanish the second time’s up—those lucky bastards just evaporate into thin air.

Crash into bed, possibly start crying because of overthinking. Bonus points if you start crashing out.

Then there’s the rest—out at some crusty frat party, doing keg stands like their brain cells aren’t already on life support. Or sparking up until they’re spiritually ascending, eyes redder than the F they just got in psych stats. But not you.

Oh no, you? You’ve got taste. Elegance.

Horror Video Games.

And not the cute, fluffy kind either. You’re not out here playing some "build your dream town" simulator, collecting adorable animals with quirky little personalities who talk about their feelings. Nope, not you. You're not clicking through endless dialogue trees in a visual novel where every decision leads to either a hug or a heartbroken confession—though, let's be real, you’ve totally dipped your toes in those a couple of times. It's fine. No one's judging.

But nope, you're deep in the muck of horror.  The darker, the better. 

The more twisted, morally questionable, and "I probably shouldn't be playing this at 2 AM" the story is? That's the kind of game you're downloading like it’s got a bill overdue. You don’t need to sip on some overpriced vodka. You don’t need to hit the vape and pretend you’re too cool for life.

What you need is pure, unfiltered psychological trauma in 1080p.

Forget a chill evening—you want to feel like your mind might short-circuit at any second. You need the cozy glow of your LED lights bleeding across a desk littered with energy drinks and half-functioning headphones. You need your haunted little playlist of indie nightmares and "this game is banned in 12 countries" storylines.

This is your version of therapy. Replacing exam stress with the emotional damage of a pixelated ghost child whispering from behind a locked door.

There’s just something magical about sinking into your chair like a sentient blanket burrito, headset on, game booted up, and letting the real world dissolve into static.

Just you, the dark, and whatever fresh hell is waiting around the next virtual corner to emotionally ruin you. Again.

That was all you could think about during your god-awful fifty-minute-long lectures—well, that and how your professor’s voice sounded like someone chewing chalk while reading a textbook aloud. Especially on your longer days, where it felt like your brain was actively trying to escape through your ears or your eyes get heavy—despite sitting right up front of the class you deadass fall asleep in the middle of lecture…

Still, you powered through. Took notes. Faked interest. Dodged a group project like it owed you money. You even hit the library for a hot minute, pretended to be productive, and then finally dragged yourself back to your dorm like a half-dead NPC on a quest for salvation.

First stop? Food. 

You threw something questionable-but-edible into the microwave leftover take out you ordered yesterday and stared at it like it held all the answers to your suffering. Greasy, hot, probably taking a year off your life, but comforting in a ‘screw it, I survived today’ kind of way.

Then came homework. Ugh. 

You sat down, cracked open your laptop, and forced yourself to speed-run your assignments like you were defusing a bomb. Brain on autopilot. Tabs everywhere. Safari sounded like it was about to take off with your laptop. But you got it done—somehow. Whether your answers make sense? Always, make sure to check everything before you turn in, timestamp and all.

Then finally—finally—you hit the shower.

The hot water came down like it had a personal vendetta, absolutely obliterating your stress, your regrets, and possibly your skin barrier. You just stood there, letting it scald you like a rotisserie chicken, steam turning your bathroom into a sad little sauna with zero luxury but maximum existential crisis.

You hummed. You danced. You nearly slipped. You played that one song—the one you’ve been listening to on loop for days like it’s the soundtrack to your life’s fake documentary. You know, the one that starts off giving you chills and ends up giving you a migraine once your brain decides it’s time to ruin it. Classic move.

Then you stood there longer than you needed to, contemplating your next victim in the horror game queue. Real priorities.

Afterward showering, you did your usual post shower routine then you pulled on your favorite set—something soft and chill but definitely showing more skin than necessary. But who were you trying to impress? No one. You just liked how your blanket felt better that way. Priorities.

Besides, the whole point was to feel the warmth of your blanket better. You wrapped yourself in it, a cozy cocoon, and sank into your gamer chair, legs tucked beneath you, heart already settling into that familiar rhythm.

Your desk was a beautiful kind of chaos—lived-in, deliberate, curated for comfort and carnage. At the center of it all stood your mid-sized monitor, propped on a stack of mismatched textbooks like some sacred relic. It bathed the room in soft, moody colors, its screen already alive with the eerie flicker of the horror game’s menu.

Game boxes were stacked like grim little trophies on your shelves, each one a memory of a night spent half-screaming and half-laughing, usually with Sol on the other end. 

Twisted monster figurines stared blankly from their perches, arranged meticulously from “mildly unsettling” to “this one gave me a complex.” And the posters? Cult-classic psychological thrillers and cursed films—tattered at the edges, warped slightly by years of devotion. They stared back at you from the walls, their looming silhouettes shifting every time the screen flashed with static or movement.

Your gamer chair was a throne, worn-in just right—soft, broken in by years of sleepless nights and stress-fueled gaming binges. Draped across it was your oversized blanket, the one that swallowed you whole and made you feel like a cryptid rising from a cocoon. There was something sacred about that chair. It knew things. It had been with you through exam week breakdowns, existential dread marathons, and now, it was your command post.

Your controller was resting on the desk beside you, waiting.

The game was already launched, the lobby open, and your headset nestled comfortably over your ears. The built-in proximity voice chat was activated—just you and Sol in your own little bubble. The room was quiet but not silent. The faint buzz of the monitor, the gentle hum of your fan, the occasional creak of your chair when you shifted—it all became part of the ambiance.

And right on cue… Sol was already online.

His username—pumpkinlover00—pulsed softly in the game lobby like a heartbeat. Waiting. Always waiting. Same time, every night. Like a ritual. Like a promise.

There was no need for a message. No awkward small talk. No fumbling attempts at icebreakers. You two had long since passed that stage. This was muscle memory now—deadass unspoken rhythm built on laggy screams, ill-timed reloading, and the electric hum of shared adrenaline.

You reached for the controller, the soft click of your grip syncing perfectly with the moment his voice crackled through the in-game chat.

“Yo,” Sol murmured, his tone rough and low like he hadn’t spoken all day—maybe he hadn’t.

You grinned, stretching out in your throne of a chair and tugging the blanket tighter around you. “Yo yourself,” you said, thumbing through the loadout menu lazily. “By the way… when were you gonna tell me your gamertag was pumpkinlover00?”

There was a few seconds of silence.

Then, a sigh. The kind that screamed regret.

“It was a dare,” Sol said, as if that explained anything.

You snorted, already grinning as you adjusted in your seat, “Yeah, okay. But pumpkinlover00, though? Be honest. Did you also bake it a pie and whisper sweet nothings to your jack-o-lantern?”

“You keep talking and I will leave you mid-extraction,” he warned, dry as dust.

“Do it. I’ll tell everyone in the dorm that you made a shrine out of pumpkin guts and played Linkin Park while crying.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t just tell them,” you said, spinning your controller in hand with flair. “I’d make PowerPoint slides. Full color. Transitions. Soundtrack.”

He groaned, however you heard the little snort of laughter he tried to bury. Then his eyes landed on your own in-game tag floating proudly above your character’s head: DumpsterSnacc_.

“…You named yourself after trash food,” he muttered.

“Excuse me? I named myself after a rare and powerful snack born in the fires of poor life decisions and gas station cuisine. I am the forbidden flavor.”

“Sounds like you were found in the dumpster.”

“Bold talk from a guy whose username sounds like a seasonal candle from fucking grocery store.”

He laughed at that—low, sudden, genuine. “Alright, alright. Let’s see which one of us gets ghost-murdered first.”

The game flickered to life with its usual guttural startup scream, the kind that sounded like it had regrets and 3 unpaid debts. Your mission scrolled across the screen in grim text, paired with a deep voiceover that could narrate your funeral.

You selected your loadout: flashlight, flares and, of course, your unshakable sense of superiority.

“Alright, Pumpkin Spice,” you said, cracking your knuckles. “Ready to yank some haunted toaster ovens outta Satan’s basement?”

Sol chuckled. “Lead the way, Snaccrifice.”

The screen cut to black. And the horror began. Eveything loaded in with an unholy screech—part static, part radio distortion, part something that sounded like it came from a throat that shouldn’t exist.

You and Sol had just booted up the latest co-op indie horror hit: R.E.P.O. session. A physics-heavy, proximity-voice nightmare where you and a friend sneak into abandoned, rotting buildings to repossess cursed artifacts... all while being stalked by something that learns how you play.

Smart. Fast. Shapeshifting. The kind of monster that knew your patterns better than your therapist. Naturally, you both took it dead seriously. It was so serious, in fact, that your characters were dressed like absolute clowns. Literally.

You had picked grey skin with the bright neon outfit, oversized heart sunglasses, and an inflatable donut ring as a belt. Sol, not to be outdone, went full chaos: Green skin, a banana suit, and ski goggles, paired with bright orange gloves. His character model moved like a confused mall Santa.

“I swear to god,” he muttered through the proximity voice chat, distorted by digital reverb, “if we die looking like this, I’m logging off forever.”

“No you’re not. You're emotionally attached now,” you replied, confidently stomping your ridiculous pink boots toward the first hallway.

You’d already picked your roles.

You were the lead retriever—the brave idiot who runs in, grabs the cursed junk, and throws it back like it’s Black Friday at a pawn shop.

Sol? He was the cart dude—your ever-loyal partner who stayed behind just far enough to avoid immediate death, but close enough to catch whatever hell you flung his way.

He pushed the in-game collection cart behind you with janky, glitchy physics, the wheels squeaking like it was haunted by a grocery store demon. You turned around dramatically, forcing your character model to do a sudden 180.

Because the game used proximity-based voice chat, this also forced your character and Sol’s to make deep, intense eye contact. Eye contact that was only made worse by the exaggerated googly eyes stuck to your sunglasses. “Alright,” you said in your Serious Voice™, stepping forward with authority.  “Game plan.”

Sol’s character nodded, “Hit me.”

“We’re hitting the west wing first. Storage room. There's an artifact in there worth at least $1800 in-game bucks. Probably cursed. Probably breathing. I’ll go in, grab it, scream if I die. You stand back, push the cart, and if something runs at you, throw it my way and run.”

There was a pause.

“That’s… that’s your plan?” he asked.

“It’s a working plan.”

“It’s a dumbass plan.”

“It’s our dumbass plan.”

You both stared in silence again, your avatars breathing heavily, noses almost touching on screen. Sol finally sighed. “I hate that I trust you.”

“I hate that I’m the brains of this operation.” You smirked, turned on your flashlight, and marched forward.

The darkness swallowed you both whole. 

Behind you, the sound of a cart creaking along… and the soft jingle of a banana suit bouncing into the unknown.

You were just finishing loading a creepy little porcelain baby head into the cart—its painted eyes were scratched out and it laughed when you dropped it, so that was great—when the game's staticy radio pinged.

Incoming call.

Username: Hyugo_WasHere

You froze. So did Sol.

“No,” Sol said immediately, full volume, the word sharp enough to slice the tension. “Do not answer that.” Too late. You were already clicking accept.

The call connected with a loud, cheerful “Yooo! Pumpkin Boy! You in that haunted IKEA game?”

You grinned. “Hyugo, you tryna R.E.P.O some haunted junk with us?”

“Am I?” he said. “Am I ever. I’ve been watching Sol’s stream on Discord on mute for like ten minutes. Sol’s scream when the mannequin fell was a chef’s kiss.”

“It fell from the ceiling,” Sol hissed. “And it grabbed my shoulder. You would’ve screamed too.”

“I would’ve shot it,” Hyugo replied flatly.

Sol groaned, already defeated. “I swear to god, if he logs in—”

“He’s already at the party,” you said casually, watching the character list update.

A second later, a new player spawned in the safe zone, cyan color. And dressed like a goddamn menace. Hyugo’s avatar was in tight metallic leggings, a sparkly vest, and a jester hat with bells that jingled with every movement. His character moved with the swagger of someone who wanted to be shot first.

“Why are you like this?” Sol muttered.

“Stealth is a suggestion,” Hyugo declared, spinning in place.

“You’re going to get us murdered,” Sol added.

But you? You were already laughing. “Let’s go, Yessss, let’s go team. The ghost’s not ready.”

As the mission progressed, the building changed. Literally.

The layout shifted the deeper you went, doors that led to supply closets now opening into winding hallways, entire wings that didn’t exist in the beginning of the match suddenly sprouting up like tumors. The wallpaper pulsed. The ceilings dripped. Somewhere in the distance, something screamed like it had teeth where lungs should be.

You, Sol, and Hyugo pushed on. Slowly, methodically.

You led the charge, grabbing cursed relics and slapping them into the cart with casual violence. Sol stuck close, flashlight flickering, cart wheels creaking, muttering price estimates like a haunted appraiser.

Hyugo, despite all odds, actually helped. He wandered ahead with a scanner, pinging valuable loot and joking in proximity chat about how your footsteps sounded like wet noodles. “$1200 mirror up here,” Hyugo called once, voice crackling. “Probably possessed. Can I make it kiss itself?”

“No,” you and Sol said at the same time.

Still, you were doing fine. 

The cart was getting full. The radio said Extraction Ready in 3 Items. You were winning. So, you split up briefly—Sol stayed behind with the cart while you moved into a shadowy side room to grab what looked like a golden antique camera. It was twitching in your hand as you placed it in the cart with a clang.

That’s when Sol ran in. Not walked. Not jogged.

He sprinted in like something was directly behind him, eyes wide, headset audio crackling with his panicked breath. “Gun.”

You looked up. “What?”

“Gun!” he barked again.

“Dude, what—?”

“GUN!!” He was just repeating it now, flailing his arms like his in-game model was having a seizure. “BIG—GUN—HE HAS A GUN—”

“Who has a gun?!”

“THE BLIND GUY!!” Sol whisper-shouted. “HE ALMOST SHOT ME!”

You blinked, slowly crouching. “You mean the monster has a gun? Like an actual gun?”

“Yes! A fucking shotgun. Like He’s blind, but he’s got aimbot—he hears you, and just—” Sol mimed a gun recoil. “Pop. Dead. No warning. No build-up. Just excellent ass hearing and bullets.”

You snorted. “So what I’m hearing is: don’t make noise.”

Because the Blind Huntsman was coming.

The cart was half full, sitting between the overturned desks and office rubble. You had all scrambled to hide, moving fast as the soft, dragging footsteps of the Huntsman echoed from the hallway—his boots heavy, and his breath sharp, unfiltered, like someone breathing through shredded cloth.

You dove under a busted-ass metal table in the middle of the room, the thing barely standing on three legs and draped with old-ass hanging wires and paper folders that probably hadn’t been touched since the building caught its first haunting. The light was dim, pulsing like a dying heartbeat from some emergency light in the hall. Dust settled thick on the floor, the smell of old rot and burning metal clinging to the air.

Across from you, Hyugo’s stupid cyan avatar ducked under another table, practically hugging the wall like some horror-movie goblin. He looked so ridiculous in that clown-ass outfit y’all let him pick, and the way he moved just made it worse—jerky, crouched, twitchy, like someone who was definitely going to get caught first.

And then there was Sol. Goddamn Sol. Man had one job—hide. But instead of tucking under a desk like a normal person, he panicked and wedged himself behind the door. Behind. The. Door. Like the Huntsman wasn't gonna swing it open and yeet him into next week.

Earlier, before shit hit the fan, he had said all calm like, “I’m gonna scope the hallway next. The cart’s almost full. Let me just—wait, hold on—” His mic clicked. That dreaded click.

You knew something was wrong. So did Hyugo. 

Both of your avatars shifted ever so slightly—tense, alert.

Then Sol said it. “I’m getting a call.”

You silently screamed. Huygo’s shoulders went up like “no way this idiot’s serious.”

You hissed, “Sol, no—”

But he said it. Out loud. “Hello?”

The door didn’t creak open. It detonated—BOOM.

The sound rattled your headset so hard your mic peaked. Splinters flew, chunks of drywall exploded like confetti, and dust swallowed the whole room. The screen shook like a natural disaster, and you actually jumped IRL, heart hammering. Sol’s body got flung back like a ragdoll—slammed straight into a metal filing cabinet, bounced, and crumpled like a puppet with cut strings. It was the worst-looking hit you’d ever seen in-game. Just flopped there, half-folded behind some drawers.

And yet… somehow… the bastard lived.

He slowly sat up, stunned as hell. Twitchy, like he had just experienced every lifetime trauma at once. His mic crackled in all staticky, and he muttered: “…what the fuck.”

You were dying. Not in-game. In reality. Trying so hard not to lose it. Your whole body was trembling from how bad you wanted to laugh. You slapped both hands over your mouth and held them there like a makeshift muzzle, eyes wide, shoulders shaking.

You peeked out at Sol’s avatar.

He was looking dead at you.

And you felt it. The shame. The betrayal. The comedy. Whoever coded that eye tracking in this cursed game deserved an Oscar. Sol just sat there, traumatized, and stared at you like “you saw that, didn’t you?” And yeah. Yeah, you did. And it was the funniest shit you’d seen all week. Then Hyugo’s dumbass peeked out too.

Hyugo peeked out from his hiding spot—real slow, real cautious—and locked eyes with Sol first. Sol’s avatar, still slumped against the cabinet like a traumatized Victorian ghost, stared back. No words. Just… the kind of look that said "Don't you dare."

Then Hyugo turned and looked at you. Your own avatar, tucked safely under the rust-ridden desk, met his gaze with the same energy. A silent pact. Do not make a sound. Not a breath. Not a giggle. Not even a pixel twitch. 

And Hyugo? He was trying, man. He really was.

You could see it—his character model shook slightly, his shoulders giving that telltale twitch. Like he was holding in a sneeze. You knew the warning signs. The snort was coming. And then—“Pfft.”

CRACK.

The Blind Huntsman didn’t even hesitate. Didn’t pause. That cursed bastard snapped around the second he heard the slip. One single shot. Pinpoint. Surgical. Hyugo’s head went supernova. Cyan body parts everywhere. His avatar’s body slammed into the edge of the metal table with this sickening clunk, arms flailing once before collapsing in a stiff, horrifying ragdoll motion. His limbs twitched for half a second… then silence.

Just the head left. Rolling. 

Like the Huntsman said, “shut the hell up” with extreme prejudice.

Dead. Instant. No revive. No second chances.

The man got deleted like he owed the server money.

You were fully biting down on the sleeve of your hoodie now, hands over your face, trying not to scream with laughter. Shoulders shaking, breath hiccupping through your nose like a possessed hamster. Your eyes were stinging from how hard you were crying—silent tears of pure, uncut chaos.

Sol’s mic crackled again, dry as hell. No emotion. Just raw judgment. “…I hope you get haunted, bro. I really do.”

You couldn’t even answer. You were beyond words. The cart you were supposed to be pushing? Yeah. You just stared at it. Like maybe if you focused hard enough, you could will the mission to complete itself.

And the Huntsman? Still there.

Pacing slow. Heavy boots echoing through the static haze. He hadn’t forgotten. Not about Sol. Not about you. He was still walking. Still waiting for someone to slip up. And you could feel it—He was pissed.

You and Sol managed to slip out while the Huntsman circled the wreckage, still checking corners like a paranoid ex. You bolted left, Sol darted right—no words, just instinct and pure panic-fueled coordination. Both of you were half limping, half sliding into the hallway, ducking behind the rusted lockers and broken shelving until the Huntsman's heavy steps grew distant.

There was a long, quiet beat once you were safe.

Then—“…Did we just leave Hyugo’s decapitated ass in there?”

You stared at Sol. He stared back. Then you both turned to look at the cart you’d spent ten minutes loading, still sitting abandoned in the middle of the room next to Hyugo’s... head. 

“Motherf—”

The next ten minutes were pure stealth-game agony. Crawling back, avoiding cameras, sensors, trying not to alert any monster. You had to watch the Huntsman loop its route three times before Sol gave you the go-ahead. He moved to the body. You got the cart.

Teamwork, right?

Eventually, you loaded the final files, got the cart into the hallway, and hit the extraction point with barely a second to spare. The screen faded to black.

Round complete.

The next scene dumped the three of you back into the familiar starting truck. Same cramped space. Same dim, flickering fluorescent light humming overhead like an anxious fly. The air in the truck felt heavier than before, like it still remembered the chaos from the last round.

Sol stood in the corner, arms crossed, glaring at absolutely nothing with the weight of every bad decision Hyugo had ever made. You were perched on one of the benches, legs pulled up, hoodie sleeve still a bit damp from when you nearly choked on your own laughter earlier.

And then there was Hyugo.

His avatar spawned in silently, just standing there for a long second like he was processing his own digital funeral.

Then he exhaled like someone twice his age. “…damn, I got clapped.” 

That was all it took.

You started laughing again, that quiet, breathless kind that rocked your shoulders and made your stomach hurt. Hyugo cracked up beside you, doubling over, no shame at all.

“Who the hell answers a phone call in the middle of a mission, bro?” you snorted, elbowing his character like it could knock some sense into him.

Sol didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. Just slowly raised his arm and pointed at Hyugo like he was pressing a mental “report player” button.

“That's what your ass get,” he said flatly. “Prank-calling me mid-hide with your creepy-ass burner number? You deserved that karma in 4K, dumbass.”

Moving on, the next map flickered into existence as the truck doors groaned open. Bright, sterile white lights cut through the foggy interior, revealing a massive abandoned science lab, all clean metal, reinforced glass, and flickering emergency signs that suggested terrible things had happened here. The air was thick with strange green mist hissing from the vents, swirling in ghostly patterns around overturned desks and shattered containment pods.

Hyugo was still sprawled on the floor from his latest brush with death, groaning dramatically. You and Sol stepped over him like he was part of the scenery.

"Science lab, huh?" you muttered, adjusting your gear.

"Great," Sol sighed. "Haunted test tubes. Love that."

Hyugo finally pushed himself up, grinning like he hadn’t just been yeeted toward acid twice in the last five minutes. “Oh, y’all are gonna love this.”

He opened his inventory with a smug flourish, the soft chime echoing like a game show reveal. And there it was:

The Hourglass.

Not just rare—stupid rare. Glowing in vibrant shades of purple and pink, pulsing slightly like it had its heartbeat. The mist around your group even seemed to freeze for a second, as if reality itself was like, wait, what.

You and Sol both just stared. At it. At Hyugo. Then, back at the Hourglass, like you were waiting for a hidden camera reveal.

“You found that?” you asked, taking a cautious step forward.

“Yup,” Hyugo said proudly, hands on his hips. “Just vibing in the vents. Found it near a corpse. Thought it was lore or something.”

Sol blinked like a tired professor dealing with the world’s most dramatic intern. “Hyugo.”

“Yeah?”

Then it happened.

Hyugo’s model jerked slightly, like a status effect triggered, and when his mic crackled back to life, he was no longer speaking like Hyugo. No. Now, he was channeling something deeper. Something ancient. Something theatrical.

He straightened up with cartoonish grandeur and spoke in the slow, wise tone of a final boss monologue. “Sunny,” he began—Sol’s cursed nickname—“I have acquired… the capsule.”

You blinked. “The what?”

“The capsules. Of time. The very essence of fate distilled into radiant fragments. This—” he gestured dramatically to the Hourglass, “—is our salvation. Our burden. Our destiny.”

Sol deadpanned. “…You’ve been holding it for three seconds.”

Hyugo ignored him. Spun on his heel with dramatic flair. “We are going to win this game. For the realm. For the vent corpses that came before us.”

You crossed your arms. “Hyugo—”

“If it means I have to sacrifice my life…” Hyugo continued, raising one hand to the digital ceiling like a knight accepting a divine quest, “so be it. Let my KD be shattered. My dignity obliterated. My outfit scuffed—”

Sol raised his weapon slightly. “Don’t tempt me.”

Hyugo gasped. “You would turn on me now, Sunny? After all we’ve been through? After I carried you through that cursed stairwell map with the glitchy ass doors? Have you no heart?”

You tried not to laugh. Failed.

“Onward, you two!” Hyugo declared suddenly, pointing dramatically at the truck doors as they creaked open to reveal the misty lab ahead. “We must go! For glory! For loot! For Sunny’s tragic lack of skills!”

Sol muttered, “I have skills—”

“SILENCE! The prophecy unfolds!”

And with that, Hyugo bolted forward, cape fluttering—he didn’t have one, but you felt like he did—into the ominous green mist, yelling something incoherent about “ether trails” and “data packets of destiny.”

You glanced at Sol. Sol glanced at you.

“I’m not reviving him when he gets face-checked by a mimic chest,” Sol said, voice flat as asphalt.

You tilted your head, smirking. “You know we’re following him anyway.”

“…Yeah. I hate that,” he muttered, already moving.

Without a second of hesitation, Sol opened his inventory with the resigned grace of someone prepping for a ritual he swore he wouldn’t take part in. One swift flick later, he pulled out the gun—the gun. Sleek, matte black, gold trim. The kind of in-game weapon that costs 7,000 currency, your soul, and your firstborn. Came with a single magazine and a kill count higher than most player stats.

Your eyes widened. “Sol—”

Before you could even finish your sentence—BANG. 

Hyugo collapsed like a folding chair. A single headshot. Dead. Instant. No fanfare. His body rag-dolled across the floor and slammed into the lab wall with a sad little clunk, the Hourglass clattering beside him like a dropped Fabergé egg. “…WHAT THE HELL?!” Hyugo’s mic exploded back to life as his model twitched on the floor.

You exhaled. “What the helly?”

Hyugo groaned. “What the helly??”

“What the helleante?” “What the helleon musk?” “What the helleberry pie?”

“What the Hellebron James?” “What the Helly Rae Jepsen?” 

“Guys.” Sol’s voice cut in, calm but worn, like a man hanging by a single thread of patience. “Shut the fuck up.”

He walked over, still holding that overkill gun in one hand like it weighed nothing, then, without missing a beat, used the grab function to hoist Hyugo’s limp avatar off the ground. His digital arms dangled, legs flopping like a sack of potatoes in skinny jeans. “Bro—BRO,” Hyugo shrieked, squirming. “Put me down! What are you doing?! SOL—Sol stop—STOP—”

You trailed after them, watching like an exhausted parent witnessing their two chaotic ass sons take very different approaches to conflict resolution. 

“Sol. Come on.”

Sol’s avatar stopped just at the edge of the glowing, toxic pit bubbling in the middle of the containment zone. The green light cast eerie shadows across the lab walls. He slowly turned his character model, head cocked toward you.

One word. “Justice.”

“BRO I’LL BUY YOU A SKIN,” Hyugo screamed. “A WHOLE PACK! LIMITED EDITION! I’LL PAY FOR IT WITH MY OWN CURRENCY—”

Sol took a step closer to the pit. Paused.

Hyugo whimpered. “Please don’t Wario-yeet me into acid, I’m useful…”

Another step. The acid hissed below, eager. Hungry.

You raised a hand like a referee about to blow the whistle. “Sol. We do need him to activate the switch in the next room. You remember the puzzle door.”

Sol sighed, heavy and reluctant. “I hate teamwork.”

Hyugo, still dangling: “I LOVE teamwork.”

After a long moment, Sol dropped him. Hyugo screamed like a dying fax machine as his avatar plummeted toward the acid below—arms flailing, mic peaking—until you lunged. Frame-perfect grab. Caught him by the hoodie just before he splashed into the bubbling green abyss. His scream cut off immediately. For a second, the whole game seemed to lag, his body glitching mid-air as you held him up like some divine intervention.

Silence. Then: “—Y-you saved me,” Hyugo breathed.

You dropped him. He hit the floor with a loud thunk.

"Don't thank me," you muttered, brushing off your sleeves. "I just didn't wanna hear that scream again."

Hyugo groaned, rolling onto his side. "You two are bullies."

Sol casually reloaded his gun. “You’re welcome for the content.”

Hyugo sat up, rubbing his digital head like he could still feel the gunshot. “I’m getting a new squad.”

"You say that every round," you smirked, already scanning the lab. Beyond the glowing acid pit, the corridors stretched into eerie, sterile hallways, the green mist rolling between shattered glass panels. 

Oh, yeah—and the rest of the game? Oh, it completely fell apart. What started as a semi-coordinated dungeon crawl quickly devolved into Hyugo’s personal chaos playground.

You were trying to play with some semblance of focus. Sol was attempting to maintain professionalism, a beacon of composure in the chaos. And then there was Hyugo, who effortlessly turned the entire game from a tense "sci-fi horror dungeon crawl" to a wild, unhinged improv comedy show—complete with light war crimes.

He was a menace. No—he was the menace. A digital gremlin incarnate. One moment, you’re creeping down a shadowy lab corridor, the eerie hum of the ambient music seeping into your headphones, the air thick with tension. You’re on edge, weapons ready, your mind focused on the mission at hand… and then—BOOM.

Big Sean’s “I Don’t F*ck With You” intro explodes through team chat, its intro blaring like a furious soundboard god had just unleashed chaos upon you. You whip around the corner just in time to see Hyugo, arms flailing, sprinting full speed through a doorway, the music pounding in the background. Behind him? A grotesque, duck-shaped miniboss, honking like a malfunctioning bike horn and spewing acid everywhere.

You couldn’t help it. 

You were dying from laughter, struggling to even aim properly, your screen a blur from tears of hilarity.

Sol, on the other hand?

“TURN IT OFF,” he growled, weapon drawn, hands visibly shaking with frustration. His usual calm demeanor? Gone.

Hyugo didn’t even flinch. “I WOULD RATHER DIE!”Instead, he leapt. A full-on swan dive off a second-story catwalk, arms spread wide in dramatic, angelic fashion, while the music still blared through the speakers. His avatar ragdoling gracefully down to the depths below, and that ridiculous duck miniboss followed right after.

You? Hysterical. Barely holding it together.

Sol? “I hope it eats him.”

The only thing more ridiculous than Hyugo's antics was the fact that you all still couldn't stop.

The next round? It was a complete disaster.

You were trying to maintain some semblance of control, moving stealthily through a high-alert containment zone. Alarms blared in your ears, the shrill sound slicing through your focus. Enemies were everywhere, ready to pounce at the first sign of trouble. Sol was on point, carefully lining up a perfect shot on a sniper perched high in the rafters. It was the kind of moment that made you feel like you were finally in control.

And then, suddenly—LOUD BABY CRYING.

The mic exploded with static, the shrieks vibrating through your headset. You froze, your camera whipping around to see what the hell was going on. There, crouched behind Sol, was Hyugo.

And he wasn’t even doing anything. He was just vibing. No weapons, no tactics. Just existing, silently in the corner. 

The worst part?

Every time you looked directly at him, he shot off like a rogue NPC with a death wish. His character zigzagged around the hallway, darting every which way, a trail of baby wails following him like an ominous echo through the halls. It felt like you were being haunted by the ghost of daycare past, each screeching cry more absurd than the last.

Sol's jaw was clenched so hard you could practically hear his teeth grinding together. He spun on you, his frustration practically palpable. “I’m this close to uninstalling.”

You shrugged, not even bothering to hide your grin. “Let him live. He’s the only one distracting the minibosses.”

Sol’s glare could’ve burned a hole through steel. “He’s distracting me.”

Of course, things didn’t get better.

You were one artifact away from completing the mission. 

Going back for the legendary Hourglass. 

A cursed, time-warping relic that everyone knew was crucial to the final steps. You had made it this far, fighting tooth and nail to stay alive, to push forward. The whole mission had come down to this one piece.

Sol exhaled slowly, trying to keep it together. “Alright. Where’s the Hourglass?”

Before you could even answer, Hyugo shot up from the corner where he’d been hiding, far too excited. “Ooh! I’ll get it!”

You and Sol both said it in unison. “NO.”

You pointed at him, voice firm. “I’ll get it.” 

You sprinted off, cursing under your breath as you dashed through the corridor, praying to every god in existence that Hyugo wouldn't somehow decide to follow you and make the situation even worse. The last thing you needed was him trailing behind you like a damn toddler in a toy store, causing chaos at every corner.

When you finally returned, panting, gripping the eerie-looking relic in your hands, you were met with a sight that made your blood boil: Hyugo, standing atop a console, looking absolutely delightful in that damn ugly seasonal cosmetic hat.

He spun around like he was auditioning for a low-budget action movie, and before you could even blink, he started blasting the most obnoxious clapping sound effect. His character mimicked a ridiculously exaggerated movement, like he was giving backshots to Sol's and yours.

That was it. You were done.

No more laughter. No more tolerance for his nonsense. The mission was right there, within reach, and yet here he was, ruining everything with his antics.

You slammed your hand down on your mic key. “Hyugo, what the hell is wrong with you?” you growled, voice dripping with annoyance. “You can’t be serious. Every time we get anywhere, you turn this game into a circus. We’re not here to play dress-up and throw sound effects around. This isn’t a comedy show!”

You glared at him through the screen, fury bubbling up. “I’ve been trying to finish this mission for hours, and all you’ve done is run around like a damn gremlin, causing chaos and wasting everyone’s time! I swear to god, if you don’t knock it off—”

Hyugo, of course, just stood there, you knew for a fact that he’s grinning like an idiot behind his fuck ass character. The last shred of your patience snapped. You looked at Sol’s character on the screen, knowing he was feeling the exact same way. Sol’s normally calm demeanor was clearly strained, but he wasn’t saying a word.

“Hyugo,” you seethed, “I’m done. Just—get out. If you can’t take this seriously, then don’t waste our time. You’re a walking distraction and a complete menace. Maybe if you stopped playing clown, you’d actually be useful for once.”

Without waiting for any kind of response, you spun around in your seat, fingers slamming against the buttons in a blur of frustration. The shot rang out, and with a satisfying pop, Hyugo's avatar’s head crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

There was a long, tense silence. You were still fuming, but you didn’t care anymore. Hyugo was out of your hair. The relic was in your hands. The mission was finally going to be over.

Or so you thought.

Then, out of nowhere, his voice crackled through the mic, calm and far too chipper. "Alright, I’m logging off for the night," Hyugo announced, as if he hadn't just spent the last hour turning the game into a goddamn circus. "I’m gonna play something else. This is... yeah, this is too much for me."

You blinked, taken aback. He was serious? After everything? You were half-expecting him to jump back in and say, "Just kidding!" or somehow start another round of chaotic shenanigans. But no. This time, he wasn’t even bothering to tease Sol. No baby were crying sound effects, no loud meme noises blaring through the speakers, no swan dives off catwalks. 

You let out a long sigh as the weight of the chaos slowly lifted from your shoulders, but just when you thought you could finally call it a night, Sol shot you a look that could only be described as a challenge.

“Don’t tell me you're actually done,” he said, a smirk creeping into his voice. “Come on, it’s late, but we’re so close. You’ve gotta finish the level with me. I dare you.”

You raised an eyebrow. You were exhausted, physically and mentally. 

The idea of continuing felt like a cruel joke, but you knew one thing: Sol wasn’t backing down, and he had a way of wearing you down with that competitive streak of his. "Fine," you muttered, giving in. "But if I regret this in the morning, I’m blaming you."

Sol gave you a look through the camera—equal parts smug and tired triumph—as you queued up a new level, eyes bleary but still gleaming with challenge.

“You sure?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, stretching like a smug cat. “This one’s deep in the DLC vault. Real freakshow hours.”

You smirked, fingers already flying across the controller. “Bring it on, coward.”

What loaded next was an obscure, borderline-broken DLC map—one of those buggy, cursed messes made by a dev who clearly needed therapy and a hug. Everything about it was off: the lighting was dim and sickly, the corridors were way too narrow, and worst of all, voice proximity was cranked up to hell. It didn’t just pick up speech. It picked up breathing.

Neither of you noticed it right away—until Sol whispered a dumb joke and the monster twitched on the screen.

“Oh hell no,” he muttered, sitting up straighter. “This thing reacts to voice pitch?”

You hummed, too tired to even laugh properly. “Mmhm. Screeches at loud noises, tracks whispers like a bloodhound.”

“Great,” he deadpanned. “So basically, I die if I sneeze.”

You forged ahead anyway, navigating through the maze of twisted hallways and creaky floorboards. The monster’s guttural growls kept brushing up against your nerves, but your exhaustion forced you into a kind of laser-focused calm. Your voice dropped lower, slower, softer—soothing, unintentional, intimate.

“Go left,” you murmured. “No—wait... not yet... okay, now. Stay close to the wall.”

There was silence on Sol’s end. Long, uncomfortable silence.

“Why are you... whispering like that?” he asked, voice a little thinner now.

You didn’t even look up. “Monster hears pitch. Screams attract it. I’m trying to not to get us murdered.”

“Sure,” he said, and then quieter, “It’s just... wow. Okay.”

Another corridor, another wave of tension. You were crouched behind a rusted shelf, heart thumping, flashlight flickering like it had stage fright, as the game’s monster—this twitchy, multi-limbed freak that sprinted at sound—skulked somewhere nearby. 

You leaned into your mic, voice steady, low, breath soft. “Hold your position… grab the crowbar… don’t move… until I say so.” Smooth. Silky. Calculated.

And then—“Sol?” Nothing.

“Sol?” Still nothing.

You peeked down the hallway just in time to see Sol’s in-game avatar standing completely still like some tragic mannequin left in a post-apocalyptic mall. Just… chilling. No movement, no reaction—man really just decided to embrace the void mid-mission. Then, out of the shadows, the monster shrieked like a dying lawnmower and launched itself at him.

“SOL—WHAT THE FUCK?!”

You screamed his name like he’d walked into oncoming traffic. His character didn’t even flinch. He just stood there, stoic as hell, right until the monster decapitated him with enough force to send his character’s head flying halfway across the screen like it owed him money. 

“Oh my god—SOL, YOU DIED, YOUR HEAD—YOUR FUCKING HEAD WENT INTO THE SKY.”

Still no response. 

Just the sound of the monster doing a victory screech and your own mic picking up your frantic panting as you became the hunted next. Now it was your turn to run. You booked it, chart in hand, tripping over half-looted shelves and whispering panicked commands to no one. You were not about to leave those high-priced relic items behind. No way. That shit was worth more than your character’s life, and you were committed.

You could feel the vibration through your controller ramping up—like it was trying to match your pulse. The sound of claws scraping concrete got closer. Louder. 

Then—“Nnnh…” A noise. Quiet. Way too quiet. But there.

You froze mid-run. “Sol?” No answer.

“…Are you—are you for real jacking off right now?!”

A pause. Then, barely audible through your headset, a low mumble:

“Keep talking… please,”

“I AM IN A GAME, YOU SICK LITTLE FREAK! THERE IS A DEMON CENTIPEDE THING TWO FEET BEHIND ME—I AM FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE—AND YOU’RE TRYNA BUST?!” 

The controller was still buzzing in your hands like it had a personal vendetta. Maybe it was the in-game monster. Maybe it was your own nerves. Or maybe—just maybe—it was Sol, breathing way too hard in your headset and dragging your sanity down with him.

And the worst part? It was funny. Because you'd forgotten—actually forgotten—you were even dating him. You were so used to Sol being somewhat mean, clingy, pouty, and generally up in your business that his little habits no longer register. Until now. Until this very cursed match. Because this? 

This was a whole other level.

Just when you rounded the next corner—BAM. The monster dropped from the ceiling vents like it had a grudge, tackled your character, and splattered your health bar in one hit. Your screen flashed a dramatic, unforgiving red:

YOU DIED.

You blinked at the screen. Jaw slack. Controller limp in your hands.

“…Are you kidding me?” you said, voice cracking. “I just got jump-scared to death because you decided to moan in my ear like we’re in some low-budget audio drama.”

Nothing. Just silence. Then, his mic crackled.

There was rustling, a shift, the soft sound of movement, and then Sol exhaled. Shaky. Like he’d just run a marathon—or committed a sin.

“I-I’m sorry,” he muttered, breathless and too soft for comfort. “I couldn’t help it. Your voice… it was driving me crazy.”

Your face went hot. Neck, ears, everything. You curled your toes on instinct. That stupid familiar twist of heat hit your stomach before you could even think to shut him up.

“Sol,” you hissed, but it came out more like a whimper.

“I—can we switch to Discord?” he asked suddenly, almost desperate. “Please, please, Pumpkin. Just for a sec. I need you to see what you’re doing to me.” He begged, using said nickname.

Your heart stuttered. 

You weren’t proud of it, but the way he begged—soft, needy, breath catching like he was barely holding it together—yeah.

You were a little turned on.

Fine. Maybe more than a little.

You stared at the screen, still frozen on your defeat, the red YOU DIED taunting you like it knew exactly why. The headset felt suddenly too hot on your ears, like it was echoing back his voice over and over again. Your fingers flexed around the controller like it owed you an explanation.

“Sol, we’re in the middle of a game,” you muttered, but the protest was flimsy, half-hearted at best. Because let’s be real, your fingers were already flying to open Discord with the kind of speed that betrayed just how curious you really were. How desperate, aww.

“Then quit it.” His voice was a rough whisper, thick like honey poured over gravel, dark and syrupy-sweet. “Quit the game. I don’t give a damn if it’s ranked, or cursed, or if the final boss was personally designed by the devil anymore. I just need—”

A low, broken groan tore from his throat, vibrating through the call and sending an electric shiver straight down your spine.

“—need you to look at me.”

And when the video call connected?

God. You looked. And you immediately regretted it.

The screen flickered to life, and there he was—Sol, wrecked and breathless, like he’d been fighting for control and lost. His black and neon-green hair was a disheveled mess, sweat-damp strands clinging to his forehead. His shirt was rucked up past his hips, revealing the sharp cut of his abdomen, the tantalizing dip of his V-line—like he’d gotten impatient, like he’d been touching himself just thinking about you—well, of course, all he thinks about is you after all.

Bruises littered his skin, dark and possessive, marking him up in a way that only made him look wilder, more feral. His red-orange eyes were blown wide, pupils swallowing the color, glassy with desperation. His hands trembled where they braced against his desk, mic discarded like even that was too much to hold onto.

“You did this,” he accused, voice raw, wrecked. A confession. A prayer.

Your throat went dry. Heat flooded your veins, crawling up your neck, your cheeks, your ears—everywhere. You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to sting, just to keep yourself from whimpering.

“You’re insane,” you breathed.

Sol nodded, feverish, eager. “For you? Every damn second.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out shaky, breathless. “We were just gaming—”

“No.” His voice dropped, sharp and dangerous. “You were gaming. I was trying not to lose my goddamn mind listening to you—your threats, your fucking voice, whispering curses like you were trying to ruin me.”

“I was not!” you protested, weak, already squirming. 

“‘I’m gonna shove this bat so far up your undead ass, you’ll respawn with it sticking out your mouth,’” he quoted, verbatim, voice dripping with accusation. His gaze burned into you, unwavering. “Tell me that wasn’t filthy. Tell me you didn’t know what you were doing.”

You swallowed hard. “Okay,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe that one was a little hot.”

His grin was wicked, triumphant, as he leaned closer to the screen, like he could taste your surrender. “So,” he murmured, voice dipping into something dark, hungry, “still think we’re finishing that match?”

Your cursor hovered over “Rejoin Game.”

Then, with a slow, deliberate click, you closed the tab.

“…I hope that monster knows it died for a very good cause.”

Your breath hitched as Sol leaned back, his fingers hooking under the hem of his shirt with a slow, deliberate smirk. "You wanna see more?" he taunted, voice dripping with sinful amusement. "Then say it."

Your lips parted, heat coiling low in your stomach as you narrowed your eyes. "Take it off. Now."

A sharp, breathy laugh escaped him as he obeyed, dragging the fabric up and over his head in one smooth motion. His chest was perfectly—toned, flushed, his pierced nipples glinting under the dim light of his room.

You hadn’t noticed before, but each one was adorned with a small silver med-sized bars, the metal catching the light as his breathing quickened. "Fuck," you muttered, biting your lip. “Aww, you’ve been hiding these from me?"

Sol’s grin was all teeth. "Not hiding. Just waiting for you to ask."

Your gaze raked over him, lingering on the way his stomach tensed as he shifted, his fingers toying with the waistband of his pants. "And what else are you hiding, huh?" you challenged, voice dropping into something darker. 

"You gonna show me everything, or do I have to make you?"

A shudder ran through him at the command, his pupils blown wide. "Fuck—" His fingers trembled as he undid the button, the zipper sliding down with a hiss that sent a jolt straight to your core.

And then—"Holy shit."

Your eyes locked onto the glint of metal there, nestled along the length of his cock, a delicate Frenum piercing tracing from the tip down to the flushed, aching pink of him. He was big, thick, and heavy in his hand as he gave himself a slow stroke, the silver bead catching the light obscenely.

"You—" Your voice cracked. "You’ve had this the whole time?"

Sol’s breath came in ragged bursts, his free hand gripping the edge of his desk. "Yeah," he admitted, voice wrecked. "Thought you’d—ah—like it."

You did. God, you did.

“Play with yourself,” you ordered, rather quickly—voice dripping with dark command, leaving no room for hesitation. “Let me see how pathetic you look when you’re desperate for me.”

A sharp, wounded whine tore from Sol’s throat, but his hand obeyed instantly, sliding down his stomach to wrap around his cock—already hard, already dripping, the metal of his Frenum piercing glinting under the dim light. His fingers moved in slow, torturous drags, his breath hitching as he squeezed just the way he knew you liked to watch.

“Fuck—fuck—” His hips jerked, chasing his own touch, his thighs trembling. “Tell me—” he gasped, voice wrecked, “tell me how I look.”

You leaned closer to the screen, lips curling into a cruel smirk as you drank in the sight of him—his black and green hair sticking to his sweat-slicked forehead, his pierced nipples pebbled tight under your gaze, his abs flexing with every ragged breath.

“Like a whore,” you purred, low and filthy. “All these piercings, all these pretty little decorations—just for me to look at, huh? You like showing off? Like knowing I’m staring at your cock and thinking about how mine it is?”

Sol moaned, high and broken, his free hand flying up to pinch and twist at his nipple, the metal barbell catching the light. His back arched off the bed, his whole body shuddering. “Yours,” he gasped, voice cracking. “Always—fuck—always yours.”

You watched, transfixed, as his fingers moved faster, his strokes turning messy, needy. His other hand kept playing with his nipple, tugging at the piercing just to hear himself whimper, just to feel something sharper.

And God, you were losing it too.

Your thighs pressed together, trying to relieve the ache building between them, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough. Not when you could see the way his cock twitched in his grip, the way his stomach muscles clenched as he got closer. Not when you could hear every broken gasp, every bitten-off moan.

Your mind raced with want—with the desperate, clawing need to have him here, in your room, on your bed, begging for you to climb into his lap and ride him until neither of you could think. 

You imagined his rough, massive hands dragging down your body, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he whined into your ear. You could almost feel the heat of his skin under your palms, the way his muscles would tense as you traced every scar, every bruise, every inch of him.

And his piercings—fuck. 

You wanted to lick them, to bite down just hard enough to make him gasp, to suck his nipples until they were red and swollen. You wanted to taste every part of him, to sink onto his cock and feel that Frenum piercing drag inside you, hitting every perfect spot until you were both sobbing.

But most of all?

You wanted to see those eyes—those obsessive, red-orange eyes—locked onto yours as he came undone beneath you, whispering your name like a prayer.

"Be careful with yourself, pretty boy," you murmured into the mic, voice dripping with false sweetness—but the tremor in your breath gave you away. Your fingers slid between your thighs, slow, teasing, just enough to make your hips twitch. "Wouldn’t want you to break before I’m done with you."

"Sol," you breathed, voice dripping with sin as your fingers traced slow, teasing circles over your own skin—just watching the way his eyes darkened, the way his breath hitched when you bit your lip. "You have no idea how badly I want to touch you right now."

His throat bobbed, his grip tightening around his cock like he was barely holding on. "Fuck—tell me," he begged, voice already wrecked.

You tilted your head, letting him see the hunger in your eyes—the way you ached for him. "I’d start with your face," you murmured, dragging your fingertips down your neck, mimicking the path you’d take on him. "Kissing you so deep you forget how to breathe. Then your neck—" 

Your teeth grazed your lower lip, just imagining the way he’d shudder. "Biting you just how you like it. Gentle? Or hard enough to make you whimper?"

Sol’s hips jerked, a broken sound escaping. "Hard—fuck, please—"

You smirked, dragging your nails down your chest, watching his gaze follow every movement. "Then I’d take my time with these," you purred, rubbing your own nipple just to watch him lose it. "Your piercings—god, I’ve thought about them so much. The way they’d feel against my lips, cold metal and hot skin. I’d tease you until you were begging me to move lower."

His breath came in ragged pants, his hand moving faster, desperate. "Lower—where—?"

You let out a slow, sinful laugh. "Guess." 

Your fingers trailed down your stomach, lower, lower, until his eyes burned with recognition. "Oh, Sol," you sighed, voice thick with want. "You liar, such a bad boy. All this time, you never told me about this." 

You licked your lips, imagining the weight of him, the way that frenum piercing would feel pressing against your tongue. "I’d take my time tasting you, savoring every inch—until you were shaking, until you couldn’t stand it."

Sol’s back arched, his free hand gripping the edge of his desk like he was about to snap. "You—you knew—?"

‘No," you admitted, your own fingers slipping between your thighs, moaning softly at the contact. "But I dreamed about it. About how it’d feel when you fucked my throat, when that little metal bar hit the back of my tongue. You’d try so hard to be good, wouldn’t you? But I’d make you lose control. Make you push deeper, until I was choking on you—until you came so hard you screamed."

He let out a strangled groan, his thighs trembling. "Or—fuck—or you could ride me," he gasped, his voice raw with need. "Take what you want, use me—‘

You cut him off, “Fuck—fuck—fuck—“ 

Your breath hitched as you rocked against your own fingers, Sol’s blown-out, filthy gaze locked onto you through the screen. He was watching—watching every twitch of your thighs, every shuddering gasp, every slick, desperate stroke of your fingers. And God, the way his lips parted, his chest heaving, his cock twitching against his stomach—like he was made for this. For you.

"That’s it, pumpkin," Sol groaned, voice wrecked, his fingers digging into his own thighs as he fought not to touch himself yet. "Look at you—fuck—look at you, taking yourself apart just ‘cause I’m watching."

You whimpered, arching off your gamer chair, your free hand fisting the blanket. "S-Sol—"

"Tell me," he demanded, his voice rough, needy. "Tell me what you’ve been thinking about. What you dream about when you’re pretending to focus on your goddamn finals."

Your hips stuttered. Fuck.

"Y-You—" you gasped, your mind spinning with him—Sol, yours, always yours, forever yours—jumping on him, riding him, your mouth around your cock as you ordered him to take it and be still until he was sobbing your name. Or maybe him pounding into you—vice versa if you have to be honest, his thick cock splitting you open, filling you up so good, so perfect, slow and deep one second, then brutal the next, fucking you senseless until neither of you could think—

"Fuck, Sol—!" You bit your lip hard, your thighs trembling. "I—I want you—inside—want you to fucking ruin me—"

A sharp, punched-out moan tore from Sol’s throat, his hand finally—finally—wrapping around his cock, stroking hard, fast, like he couldn’t hold back anymore. "Yeah? Where?" he growled, his hips jerking up into his fist. 

"Tell me exactly where you want me, pumpkin—"

"E-Everywhere—" you whined, your fingers working faster, your body burning. "My mouth—my hole—fuck, just—fill me up, Sol, please—"

"Fuck—" His head tipped back, his breath coming in ragged gasps. 

“J-just you—fuck, you cumming so deep inside me—gonna make me drip with it—" You moaned, loud and shameless, your climax crashing into you like a fucking tsunami—and just as you came, shaking, screwing your eyes shut, you heard Sol break.

Sol’s breath hitched, his rhythm faltering. "I’m—I’m close—"

You locked eyes with him, your own pleasure coiling tight, unbearable. "Then come," you demanded, your voice a dark, delicious command. 

"Come for me, Sol. Let me hear how much you need this."

And when he did—when his whole body shook, when his voice broke into a desperate, pleading cry—"Ngh—pumpkin.”

His back arched off his chair, his cum flying—literally hitting his camera with a wet splat, his cock pulsing in his hand as he kept stroking, milking himself through it, his moans filthy, pathetic, perfect.

"Shit—look what you did—" he panted, his voice wrecked, his cum streaked across the screen like some kind of obscene trophy. "Fuckin’—everywhere—"

You laughed, breathless, your body still buzzing. "Mmm… should’ve been inside me instead."

Sol’s eyes darkened, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. "Next time," he promised, his voice low, dangerous, "I’ll make sure none of it goes to waste."

Then, with a smirk that sent a fresh jolt of heat straight to your core, he leaned closer to the camera—and licked a stripe right through his own mess.

"Fuck," you breathed.

Sol just grinned, his lips glistening. "Better than video games?"

You groaned, throwing an arm over your face. "Shut up."

He laughed—warm, bright, yours—and you couldn’t help but smile.

The screen between you flickered with the remnants of what just happened—Sol’s chest still heaving, his lips parted, his skin flushed down to his collarbones. You both just breathed for a second, the air thick with satisfaction, the kind of exhaustion that curled warm in your stomach.

“Fuck,” Sol muttered, voice rough, dragging a hand down his face. “We’re gonna have to clean this shit up.”

You snorted, stretching lazily, your muscles loose and tingling. “Your camera’s never gonna recover.”

He glanced at the mess streaked across his lens and groaned, but there was a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Worth it.”

You both took a second to recover—him wiping his screen with the hem of his shirt, you grabbing tissues to clean yourself up—moving in comfortable silence, the kind that only came when words weren’t necessary. When the heat between you spoke louder than anything else.

Then, softer: “Exams fucking suck,” you sighed, flopping back onto your chair, legs still trembling slightly.

Sol huffed a laugh, rough and warm. “Tell me about it. I think my brain’s just soup at this point.”

“Same.” You grinned at the ceiling, still feeling the ghost of his gaze on you. “But at least we’ve got this.”

“This?”

“Yeah. This.” You gestured vaguely between you, as he shifted in his seat, giving you another glimpse of his toned stomach, the way his sweatpants rode low on his hips. “The games. The dumbass voice chats. The… other stuff.”

There was a pause.

Then, so quiet you almost missed it—

“This is the only part of the day I actually look forward to.” Sol admitted.

Your breath caught. “…Yeah,” you murmured after a beat, voice softening. “Same.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was loaded—warm and electric, like the air right before a thunderstorm. Then Sol broke it, his voice dipping into something teasing but dangerously sincere.

“Your voice is dangerous, you know.”

You laughed. “Why? ‘Cause it almost got you killed in-game?”

“No.” His tone shifted, low and deliberate. 

“Because I think I’m kind of into it.”

“Oh my god—” You grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it across your room, your face burning.

Sol laughed, the sound bright and unguarded, and you could picture him—sprawled back in his chair, smug as hell, that lazy grin playing on his lips.

You both laughed it off—mostly—but when the moment settled, neither of you moved to leave the call. The screen stayed open, Sol’s heavy-lidded gaze still fixed on you, lingering like he was memorizing every detail.

Fuck. The night couldn’t end like this.

You glanced at your clock. “…I don’t have another final until Friday.”

Sol’s eyebrow arched. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You bit your lip, then slowly—deliberately—spread your legs, letting him see the mess you’d made, still glistening between your thighs. “So… you could come over. Bring snacks.”

His breath hitched. His fingers twitched against his desk, like he was fighting the urge to reach through the screen.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough.

You smirked, then—just as his eyes darkened with hunger—you poked at the screen, sticking your tongue out before abruptly ending the call.

Leaving him with nothing but the image of you.

And another hard bulge in his sweatpants.

“Fuck,” Sol groaned to the empty room, already scrambling for his keys. He grabbed his jacket, his pulse racing. 

Yeah. This was so much fucking better than video games.

The call between you and Sol was already too much—voices tangled in panting breaths, the slick, filthy sound of skin on skin, the way Sol whined your name like a prayer. It was overwhelming. Distracting. So much so that you didn’t even notice the other set of ragged breathing.

A third participant in the call.

Hidden in the shadows of the voice channel—camera off, letting go rugged breaths —Hyugo sat frozen at his desk, bathed in the dim blue glow of his monitor. All he’d meant to do was pop in, apologize for trolling you both earlier, maybe convince you to queue up another round. But then he’d heard your voice. Sol’s voice. And then—

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

His fingers, which had been idly scratching at his thigh, froze. His breath hitched, sharp and sudden—like he’d just taken a hit straight to the chest.

This wasn’t just a call.

This was filth. A live, unfiltered, obscene performance—and he was the unseen, uninvited spectator.

And that alone made him hard, fast.

It wasn’t long before Hyugo’s baby-blue hair, usually tied back in a neat half-pony, now hung loose—sweat-damp strands clinging to his flushed cheeks. His lips—god, his lips—were bitten raw, his teeth sinking into the fabric of his own shirt to stifle the pathetic little noises threatening to spill out.

He hadn’t meant to stay.

He definitely hadn’t meant to touch himself.

But the way you talked to Sol—low, commanding, dripping with filthy promises—it wrecked him. The way Sol begged for you, voice cracking on your name, the way he whimpered when you teased him—

Hyugo’s hand was already slipping past the waistband of his sweats before he could stop himself.

“Fuck,” he breathed, silent, trembling.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. Wasn’t supposed to be listening.

But god, the way you talked about ruining Sol—

His cock twitched in his palm, already leaking, already aching as he quickly fisted himself, trying to be quiet. He could’ve put himself on mute, but—

The risk of getting caught turned him on more.

So he tested himself, gagged by his own shirt, watching his cock pulse in his grip, his thighs tensing as he fought to keep his hips from jerking forward.

He should leave. He should close the call.

But instead, his fingers tightened, stroking slow, so fucking slow, just to drag it out, just to hear more.

By the time Sol left the call, Hyugo was ruined.

His thighs shook. His free hand clutched at his own shirt, dragging it up to his mouth to bite down as his hips jerked forward—

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck—

He barely had the presence of mind to grab a few napkin from his desk, cupping it over the tip just as his orgasm ripped through him—a silent, shuddering cry muffled into fabric as he spilled into his palm, his cock throbbing with every pulse.

“F-fuck—!”

He slumped back in his chair, chest heaving, skin burning, his cock still twitching as he dabbed himself clean, careful not to let a single drop ruin his precious gaming setup.

Disgusting. Pathetic. And so fucking good.

He still couldn’t believe you two—blissfully unaware, oblivious to the fact that he’d just come to the sound of you and Sol falling apart.

Hyugo’s lips curled into a shaky, guilty smirk.

"Maybe I should still be annoying in y’all’s games more often," he thought, breathless, wicked. 

This wasn’t better than video games, but—Fuck.

He didn’t mind shit like this now. He’d take it every damn time.

…y’all… should I write a threesome? jkjk…

Also... not gonna lie, writing this made me like Sol. Just a tiny bit.

[akisteahouse]

no warnings, apart from the fact that ‘emperor’ is used as a gender neutral term and Vil is slightly yanderish here. also, this is based purely on the apothecary diaries anime, so don’t expect it to be historically accurate at all

Thinking about Emperor! Reader with Vil Schoenheit as your high consort…

Who, due to his untouchable beauty, immediately passed the selection process, and had climbed the ranks rather quickly, being promoted to a high consort in no time.

Who sat and patiently waited in his bedchambers for you to arrive, so expectant, sitting there in his loosely tied plum-coloured silk robes, shifting himself into a more glamorous position when you entered…

Who promptly arched an impeccable brow when instead of undressing him, you simply flopped next to him on his, admittedly, massive bed. How… peculiar.

Who figured that perhaps it was a fluke - after all, being an emperor wasn’t an easy feat. But then it happened again. And again. And again. And again.

Who began to get used to these nightly visitations, which consisted of him and the sleeping emperor - not the most traditional arrangement, but the sound of you snoring as he worked on his embroidery was the perfect white noise, so it was a win, he supposed.

Who was quite sure you were fond of these nights as well, judging by how many gifts you’d recently bestowed upon him - elaborately designed robes lined with fur for the harsh winter, slippers with the softest leather soles, even an array of impressive jewellery from the east. “A bit on the nose, no?” He had sniffed once. (Before promptly deciding to always wear one of your gifts whenever he left his part of the inner palace.)

Who was waiting for you to visit his bedchambers as per usual… and nothing.

Who initially thought it was a one time thing. After all, you were an emperor, after all. Maybe you had to visit some other concubine. Maybe you had a bad day.

Who was totally, definitely fine with it at first… until he learnt that you spent the few weeks not visiting him with a lower ranking consort - not even a middle ranking one - called Neige LeBlanche. Excuse me?

Who wasn’t nearly as subtle with his anger with you than he thought. Sure, he kept his poise and grace, but even a raccoon could tell how upset he was with you, judging by how one, he was dressed in full winter gear, and two, he stood a good few meters away from you, as stiff as a board, like you stank of raw fish.

Who made no attempt to go near you, up until you pulled him into the cool sheets with you, the crown of his head hitting your chin rather inelegantly.

Who continued on with his never ceasing pettiness by refusing to look you in the eye, which only led to the fat of his unblemished cheek being squished onto your chest, as you tried your best to figure out how to ease his very apparent agitation.

Who simply buried himself in your chest further as his face burned, while you whispered soothing promises into his pink-tipped ears, assuring him that he truly was the fairest one of them all, that Neige was unimportant, that he was all you really needed.

High consort Vil, who, ever since that night, dreamed of nothing more than to be the beautiful empress by your side, to be all you needed for the rest of your life. And if he needed to rip out that pesky fly Neige’s heart in the process, then so be it - after all, your love was definitely worth it. ;)

[bunni-v1]

HIHI! Before I make my request, I just wanna say that I absolutely ADORE the way you write the crk characters! The posts you have about Shadow Milk are scarily accurate. On another note, I really enjoyed the Burning Spice x reader hcs, and for my request, could you maybe do some Burning Spice NSFW hcs?🤧🙏 I haven't seen many people do requests for him, so I figured I'd step up and ask!

Burning Spice NSFW Headcannons

🍓Girl, I gotta clear out my askbox AGAIN. I clean it out and then y'all come back with a vengeance. Anyway, you were the first person to rq this, so congrats, you get the special answered ask! Yay! Anyway, Burning Spice is SUCH a challenge for me because we have virtually no content of the guy. This is 90% guesswork on my behalf, so please give me grace lol. Sorry if these are short and kinda bad, my motivation is low rn lol

Tw: NSFW; Rough Sex; Marking (like, bruising and biting); blood mention; predator/prey dynamic mentioned

Info: Burning Spice Cookie x Reader; NSFW

-Burning Spice Cookie is surprisingly lax about sex. It's not something that interests him too much, because once you've done it so many ways, you cannot do much more spicing it up.

-Pre-corruption he had sex semi-frequently with various different partners over a long period of time, but the closer he got to corruption the more... boring sex became. There wasn't much appeal other than dominating his partner, and even then, once he did that it was kind of nothing.

-He's experienced and he's very good at what he does, but he doesn't really care to initiate in most cases. Despite what most might think of him, he values the time he spends with you. Sex seems like it would be a waste of it, so he just doesn't bother with it.

-Unless, of course, you seem to be into the idea. Then his tune changes. Oh, his little warrior wants to try something different? Alright, sure, but he won't hold back on you. (He does, of course, because he can't have you crumbling on him.)

-Your first time with him is... interesting. He is, in all meanings of the word, considerate of you and your well-being the whole time. But, he's also doing everything in his power to see what makes you tick. How far can he push you this time before you need to tap out, how many orgasms can he get, how hard can he get your legs shaking?

-He likes to push you. A big part of his style of sexual intercourse is dominating. In most cases, he likes to go as hard as he can as fast as he can, but he has an inhuman tolerance when it comes to you. So he takes his time figuring out how to dominate you.

-He likes things that puzzle him, he likes having his mind challenged, he likes to have something for his mind to do. With sex, this is especially important. He gets off on the thrill of figuring you out, he wants to see the way you react to everything.

-He's big on predator/prey dynamics, like, really big on them. He likes to set you loose and give you a fixed amount of time to throw him off your trail. Run, hide, set traps, and he'll come after you like a wild animal starved for weeks. You always think you've got him, but he waits until you're comfortable to strike, and he takes you wherever he finds you - so hiding in public isn't a smart idea... or it is... depends on what you're into.

-Speaking of, he is a big proponent of public sex. Like I said in his initial headcannons, he loves to show you off. You both have a lot of pride in being the other's partner, so why not show it off in every way possible?

-Usually, this manifests as him having you bounce on him on his throne while loyal followers come and praise him. They'll be showering him with flowery words and begging for his acknowledgment, but his eyes are only on you. He soaks in your nervous expression, loving the way you shy away from the other cookie's eyes.

-It also can be more ritualistic. What I mean is that, he very well enjoys having people watch, so why not make a festival out of it. The two of you will be on a huge platform, surrounded by rich silk sheets and the eyes of his most loyal followers. They cheer the two of you on, shouting praises and exclamations of joy as you reach your climax.

-Do not think that this means he's in any way okay with sharing. He is not, it's a one-way ticket to get crumbled. If any cookie is foolish enough to even propose the idea they don't live to tell the tale. Look, enjoy, but don't touch.

-A lot of sex with him actually starts as sparring. You are very weak compared to him, so he rarely goes out of his way to spar with you, but he does. When he does, it always ends with you bent over and babbling his name like a mantra.

-He can't help it, the way you fight him with such a cute determined little expression really makes the cogs in his head turn. Flushed face, chest heaving, oh you look heavenly. Wouldn't you look nicer with him splitting you on his dick? Yes, he seems to think so.

-He likes it when you fight back against him, make him work for his own high. It's just what he wants. Kick and bite and punch and scratch as much as you can, he wants to see the marks you leave on him. He wears them with pride, just like you should his.

-And he does mark you up, very well. Your body is littered with bites from him, and you have several new bruises where he restrains you. The most prominent ones are on your thighs, the perfect outline of his fingers practically burned into your dough.

-You always bleed when he bites, his teeth are sharp, and he never cleans it up. He likes seeing the crimson jam dribble down your body. It's a beautiful sight, the very essence of you leaking out for him to see. When he's feeling particularly romantic, he'll smear it across his lips like makeup, and kiss along your body leaving a trail of blood-soaked kisses in his wake.

-Something else to mention, he very much likes to see the two of you connected. He enjoys watching himself sink into you, and he does it in silence. To him, it's beautiful to see your bodies meld together. Even more so, he likes to see evidence of himself in you.

-So, he always cums inside and he never uses protection. He likes to see his cum leak out of your abused little hole, he'll scoop it out of you after the fact with a scary reverence in his eyes. It's hard to tell what he's thinking, but he cleans you up well, so it's best to let it be.

-He also likes to feel himself while he's inside you. He'll press on your stomach so he can enjoy the way he fits more directly. If you squirm, it just makes it all the better for him. The pleasure is only heightened by your wiggling, so keep it up.

-Okay, we have to acknowledge his size. It's impossible not to do so with how big he is in the game - he is significantly larger than every cookie we've seen so far.

-His dick is large, like very large. It's more... normal... than Shadow Milk Cookie's, but it's not regular by any means. It's big, nearly eight inches long, and about five inches thick. It's the same color as his dough all the way up to the tip, which is a deep reddish-brown color.

-The tip is flat and wide, and it's the same thickness along the entire shaft. The first push-in is always the hardest, but as soon as you adjust, it's easy to take the whole thing... well... what you can fit at least.

-Oh, one last thing, his dick is ribbed. Several bumps line the shaft in a nice pattern, and it rubs you inside like a dream. He knows the effect it has on you too, and he uses it to get you to melt against him like butter.

-He's rough, and he goes rather hard and fast, but he can slow it down sometimes. It's rare, and it isn't something he thinks to do in most cases, but occasionally... just sometimes, you'll get a sweeter side to him.

-That doesn't mean it isn't intense, though. It is intense, even more so than his other style of sex. But it's for different reasons this time.

-Instead of fucking he is making love to you, which seems to be out of character, but I promise you it's not. He loves to show you his devotion to you, and a great way of doing that is through sex.

-If you are, for any reason, feeling insecure he uses sex as a means of expressing just how much you mean to him. Words can only do so much, gifts and mortal possessions are meaningless in the grand scheme of things, but this? The physical connection between the two of you? It's something more, something deeper than anything else he could give you.

-He holds you close, usually facing him on his lap, and slowly ravishes you. There is to fighting or bruising or biting like this, just raw passion that he has for you. Not an inch of your skin is without his burning touch, the heat between the two of you fogging your mind until you can no longer think.

-The pace he sets is slow and deep, each thrust and movement a deliberate show of his admiration for you. It's only then that you'll hear him praise you, words of affirmation spilling from his lips like warm honey, encouraging you to keep going for him.

-What is the most intense, what gets you shaking, is the way he looks at you. His eyes are unblinking and affixed to your face with nothing but sheer devotion and love. He doesn't let you shy away either, you need to look at him, to see how much he adores you. Only once you are jelly against him will he be satisfied that he has done his part.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

 book 7 chapter 12 part 3 thoughts!

***THIS POST CONTAINS MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR BOOK 7 PART 12 OF THE MAIN STORY!!*** This spans part 269 to part 294, focusing on Riddle.

Please note: this is NOT meant to be a summary or a translation; these are only my initial thoughts on the events that roughly unfold. There may be details overlooked or misunderstood in this post, so PLEASE do not use this as a translation.

They land in a new location! New assets and everything. Trey identifies it as Crimson City in the Queendom of Roses.

This update opens with Silver showing the first signs of fatigue. (He audibly sighs; Ortho shows concern.) Silver insists he is fine but advises they avoid battles.

Cater laughs at Trey’s expense. He has never heard him scream so loud!! They should go to an amusement park in the waking world together. This is ironic xhsnsvekakw because these two technically did go to Playful Land together 😂

Trey begins to worry about where his glasses have gone. Apparently they fell off while they were hopping to Riddle’s dream. Idia says searching for lost items in a dream can be difficult but Trey would have perfect vision if he thinks hard enough about it. (Me, sitting here: this is a dream. Can you not literally just conjure up a new pair by imagining it.) Trey’s vision is so bad (he’s squinting just to see people’s faces) and he’s had glasses since preschool, so it’s hard for him to do that.

Ortho suggests using S.T.Y.X. tech and data to make Trey new glasses. But then Ace interrupts and announces he snagged Trey’s glasses. He saw them while falling and brought them to himself using magic; they aren’t damaged. The others, even Leona, praise him. (… but I don’t, because what is this time wasting nonsense 😭 MOVE ON ALREADY…) For a first year, his magic control is very good. Is it because he’s dexterous from basketball?

In exchange for saving the glasses, Ace asks for a cherry pie at the next unbirthday party.

LMAO apparently Ace got to practice using magic precisely because of being in Heartslabyul. Changing the color of the roses + other unbirthday party prep is done with magic. Ace also quickly learned how to clean up using magic to avoid Riddle’s wrath when the dorm leader patrols.

UHHHHH a police car starts chasing them?? It stops and a policeman exits, pulling… R rIDDLE?????!!??!?!?!

THE HE c K Is tHIS… CAtER MiSTAKES HIM FOR a CUTE giRL OR A MAGICAM INFLUENCER (IN thE FULL bODY MODEL YOU CAN SEE FisHNETS ON HIS leGS)

He calls the police officer an “old man” and speaks in a different cadence than usual. Higher pitched and more childlike. UHHHHH RIDDLE USES RUDE SLANG TOO… It’s not slang I understand; Adeuce identify it as exclusive to the Queendom of Roses

Errrrrrr, so Riddle was arrested for singing in the streets. He says he doesn’t see why people have to follow the rules 😱

Ah, Chenya’s in this dream!! He was in the cop car as well.

vdkabsjsvsusbkxks OH MY GOD Trey’s sounding like a concerned father 👨 Riddle spots Trey and gets all excited; the animation of the live 2D models also implies Riddle is grabbing and clinging to Trey’s arm.

Riddle and Chenya got arrested for starting a “surprise live” in front of the police station. (A “surprise live” is a spontaneous musical performance done in the streets or in public; they’re common in Japan.) They’re in a 2-man band! Riddle is the vocals and Chenya plays bass. It’s hard to keep members because Riddle keeps changing what kind of music they play. He says it’s boring to play the same thing every day.

Riddle doesn’t recognize everyone else so they reintroduce themselves. xhdvsjwbwkw Leona is smart enough to just call himself by first name; the last name might have given away that he’s royalty. (Typically, giving only your first name is a sign of familiarity or casualness in Japanese culture, but I don’t think that was the intention here.)

Riddle asks them to play with him in his band. H needs a guitarist, drummer, and keyboard player! Backup dancers and composers are also welcome, but even if not experienced.

Cater coming in clutch again… He volunteers to play guitar and changes into his Pop/Light Music Club uniform.

THIS iS SO WEIRD… Riddle calls Cater “Cay-kun” and “nii-san” 💀 Cater is freaked out by this too, even though he told Riddle earlier it was okay to call him “Cay-kun”.

Cater lies and says everyone else with him is skilled at playing too. For example, Leona is as good as a professional at drumming!! Leona starts to protest but Cater shuts him up. They need to do this to investigate 🎵 I continue to be baffled at how active Cater is in this dream and the last two. Holy hell, leave some crumbs for the rest of us…

DROPS TO KNEES AnD WEE PS OTL LEONA CHSnges tO HIS DIRM unIFORM AnD DAYS SoME CORNh shIT AbOUT HoW hEmMa SkILLED At DRUMS (lying bitch) THERe’A SpArKLE EFFDcts AnD EVERYTHING

Adeuce and Grim bring up their VDC experience (+ how Rook gave them 100 points in beauty)! Ortho volunteers his synthesizing abilities. He also can do lighting and video production. Sebek has been playing violin since he was little because he admires Malleus (erm, though Harveston Sledathon showed us Sebek sucks at playing it sooooo—). Silver says his farther showed him how to play the ocarina.

Riddle is so excited to have so many different people joining him. No matter how many times he invites Trey, he doesn’t join the band. Cater teases Trey and says his singing for their dorm’s events isn’t bad.

Riddle suddenly invites everyone to his house for tea?! This alarms Trey, but Riddle insists his mom will be happy to see him.

Trey worries the strawberry tart he brought with him from his own dream will get them in trouble. Cater and Grim offer to eat it in case of emergency!

L ch avajGqian SRBRk 😭 He says Riddle’s mom can’f be anywhere near as fierce as Malleus’s mom…

Leona starts to say something but doesn’t finish the thought.

Aaaand here we are at the Rosehearts residence!! Look at all the family photos. (This is not what the home looks like irl; there aren’t this many photographs, probably because Riddle implies that his parents don’t have a happy marriage 😢)

WhAT YhD fuKKKJKKk

Riddle’s mom speaks in a much higher pitched voice and sounds so caring. (We don’t get to see her; it’s just a voice since she’s speaking from the kitchen.) She calls him “Riddle-chan” and is happy he brought so many friends.

Chenya notices the strawberry tart Trey brought in. Grim tries to eat it but Riddle explodes on him, saying that it is HIS. Riddle’s mom is okay with this 💀 and Riddle confesses he has tarts twice a week, even when it is not his birthday.

Riddle goes to have his mom slice the tart up. As soon as he leaves, Trey releases a HUGE breath. He was so nervous about Mrs. Rosehearts losing her temper. Ortho senses his vitals shooting through the roof and recommends he sits down.

They start looking at the photos on the wall. Oh, Riddle’s dad is there too. Ace comments that the focus of the pictures if Riddle while the parents’ faces are blurry. (Is it because Riddle cannot imagine what his parents’ happy faces look like 😭) One of the pics is 6th grade sports day (an egg balancing on a spoon race), another is them swimming, Halloween, etc. Riddle was able to have a happy childhood with Chenya and Trey; their families hang out too.

Lore about family photos time?? Cater’s sisters and mom of course love to take them. Ace’s mom shows baby photos in the house. Sebek’s dad wants to take pictures more than his mom does. Deuce’s mom uses her phone. He has the framed photos in the closet in his rebellious phrase but wants to take them out when he wakes up. Lilia has an instant camera and uses it to take pictures once a year on Silver’s birthday. The Shroud parents have family photos at their work desks. Ortho regularly sends them photos and videos of school events.

Leona’s special cuz he’s a ✨ prince ✨ A newspaper has a photographer assigned to the royal family. He’d take pics without permission and the public relations officer had to confiscate them. Leona naturally hates family reunions that are arranged just to enhance their image. They’re not fun and people just pretend to be friendly.

dbjsbsjwjens Leona doesn’t really have photos of himself when he was young but his mom and Kifaji would take casual pics. He hates when he gets pestered for photos… like his Ceremonial Robes vignettes! Apparently they want the pictures to decorate the private dining room, Mr. Kingscholar’s hospital room, etc.

Ummmmmmmmmmm… Trey ain’t lookin’ so hot…

He says he has no memories of what is in these photographs. He + Chenya only played with Riddle for a month or two before the tart incident, and Riddle went to a private school whereas he + Chenya were public.

Riddle drops 5 sugar cubes into black tea, plus plenty of milk and honey. Leona makes a snide remark about how it’s rude for the host to not take the guest’s preferences into consideration to serve them OTL (you’re so right, king—)

Riddle offers everyone a chiffon cake and butter cookies his mom made. But… hm? That’s weird. They taste strangely hard and aren’t very sweet. Trey automatically identifies the ingredients; they must be the healthy ingredients Mrs. Rosehearts actually uses irl, because Riddle’s imagination is pulling from memories of his mom’s cooking.

Chenya can use magic but… Riddle can’t?! His dad is a novelist who writes stories with his son as the protagonist and his mom is a housewife full time. Neither can use magic.

sdlhbsdyoaeyai RIDDLE SHOUTED ME OUT/j He said that him being able to use magic is "as impossible as a raven being like a writing desk" 😇

Riddle becomes upset that they’re whispering to each other. They should speak up at his tea party!!

HUHHHHHHHH Riddle says be didn’t go to school?????? And he hates studying?! Deuce shouts that he uses to hate school and studying, but at NRC his dorm leader and the teachers taught him well. dhsvsjjww Riddle hates books without illustrations, but Sebek counters that there are books that will suit his taste.

Riddle doesn’t want to read??? His dad will tell him stories orally while Riddle plays with toys. And he works from home, so Riddle can ask him whatever he wants whenever he wants.

Cater brings up play croquet at their dorm.

Uuuh Riddle becomes fed up with the topic and demands it be changed. No problemo, cuz Ace was gonna talk off the cuff anyway. People start to consider leaving the band due to Riddle’s inability to read the room and his lack of ambition.

Riddle gets mad and starts raging. In seeps the darkness. We try to leave but Riddle prevents them. The entire room they’re in becomes like… locked? So they cannot leave.

A simple color palette swap makes this look like a scene straight out of a horror game.

A bunch of tea rushes in from another room and everyone works together to close it. They dream form change out of their tea-Soaked clothing.

They deduce that the room itself is the NPC and it must have been pretending to speak in Riddle’s parents’ voices since no one ever saw them. The room where Riddle’s dad works produces a flood of manuscripts, whereas the kitchen is a torrent of black tea. Suddenly, a hand emerges from the tea…! IT’S RIDDLE’S MOM TRYING To DrAg ThEM IN

They hear humming and Chenya appears! Leona threatens to turn the house to sand BUT HE GETS COLLARED 💀 Trey tries to overwrite the collar with his own UM but gets collared too. “Anyone that tries to escape the house will be beheaded”, according to the dreamer’s will.

It’s hard for them to locate Riddle; the space keeps twisting and turning and the magic formula governing it keeps rewriting itself.

ERRRRRR the black tea in the room is increasing even if nothing is gushing in from the kitchen anymore… This truly is one big horror movie now OTL

They try to climb onto/into stuff to keep afloat. Then we hear someone crying… Riddle? His tears are what’s filling up the room. He says, “I want to get out…” UM???? Of your living situation????? (Not me laughing around Leona saying in his most insincere voice “We’ll help you, so show yourself”…)

Leona compares Riddle to a rose with thorns, hurting people indiscriminately. (Okay, oddly poetic when you’re on the brink of death but sure, pop off)

Trey begs dream!Chenya to please show them the way to Riddle. The other card soldiers speak up and talk about how strong and admirable of a leader Riddle is. Finally, Chenya agrees to show them a shortcut.

ERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR

We cut away to Idia’s dream?? He is preparing hacks and such for the final battle against Malleus. But um?? Is struggling to reconnect to Ortho and the others to provide support.

Suddenly, knocking at his door! Idia wonders if it is S.T.Y.X. staff???? UH-OH IT’S MALLEUS AND HE DEMANDS TO BE LET IN (he realizes Idia is awake)

We don’t get to see what happens to Idia; we cut back to the second layer of Riddle’s dream. It’s a ruined rose garden…

Ortho realizes the connection to Idia was dropped…

Riddle is berating some mobs (rule 372: if a red mushroom grows, the roses must be white). He has dream!Adeuce send them off to a punishment room where they have to write down rules 300 to 500.

Dream!Cater overhears some mobs whining. He and dream!Trey remind everyone Riddle is always correct and they should salute and follow him. Riddle has an evil laugh… and then has a smile as he says his mother was right all along.

Seeing this, Trey wonders if this is the future that would have happened if he didn’t get “lucky” and overwrite Riddle’s magic that one time.

Oh???? Silver says his father told him magic originally was a miracle birthed from a strong desire in the heart. He says that it was, then, no mistake that Trey’s Paint the Roses trumped Riddle’s magic. It was Trey’s own strong desire to stop Riddle that allowed him to turn the rose bushes into playing cards.

Chenya reappears and offers to show us more. He sneaks over, pulls on Riddle’s cloak, and makes him fall over?! Which pisses him off, obviously.

Riddle blows away the bushes we’re using to hide and is shocked to see doubles of his students. Leona gets fed up and confronts Riddle about how this is all a dream.

LMAOvvvvvsnbabzgajavaowkw Dream!Trey tells Riddle to not listen to Leona… LEONA IS A CORRUPTING FORCE AND A BAD INFLUENCE 💀 I want to argue, but… he sort of has a point…

Riddle commands we be captured and taken to the punishment room too. The mobs start to praise Riddle for everything he has done for them, including (for some reason) lowering their tension and giving them a reason to live????

Leona tells Riddle’s it’s empty and meaningless to be cheered on by an illusion. But Riddle insists he is happy this way. THIS IS SAD, he’s equating fear, respect, and love… What the fuck does this say about his own feelings towards his mother??

A bunch of Heartslabyul students descend on them. Without help from Idia, we can’t defend!! We tear off into smaller groups and run into the rose maze.

This is fr so sick and twisted 💀 Riddle is starting to wake, but dream!Cater and Trey tell him not to think of painful things. If he wakes up, everyone will hate him and he will be alone again—and Riddle doesn’t want that, right? So Riddle agrees, no one should be able to leave the world of dreams.

Okay so group 1 is Yuu, Grim, Sebek, and Ace. Group 2 is Leona and Deuce. Group 3 is Silver and Cater. Group 4 is Trey and Ortho.

Their phones don’t work so they cannot text or call each other.

Rule 63 is this: those who upset the queen in her court will be chased in the rose maze by card soldiers. If you try to climb or jump over the trees, they will attack you. In Diasomnia, there are thorns under the drawbridge that have a similar protective function. Though now, Malleus has a protective barrier around the dorm.

They hear Deuce calling out to them and Ace is suspicious. He tells Sebek, Yuu, and Grim to be quiet and let him handle this.

Ace goes up to Deuce and “reveals” himself to be darkness. Deuce is relieved and reveals himself to be darkness too. Ace, pretending to be darkness, tries to convince dream!Deuce that the real Deuce and Leona went “this way”. Unfortunately, Sebek concludes Ace was actually darkness and intended to betray us. So Grim breathes fire, melting away the wax (?) Ace was using to disguise himself as darkness and he realizes their mistake.

dbsjbsjw THERE’S a SiLLY TRUMPET SfX TO suMMON THE oTHER CARD sOLDIERS

They beat back dream!Deuce, but now too many soldiers are swarming them. Sebek accepts the onus for not trusting Ace and jumping to conclusions; he uses Living Bolt to clear a way for Yuu, Ace, and Grim to run away while he stays behind.

Now let’s bounce to Leona and Deuce! dgshevkw Deuce thought he was with Ace, Yuu, and Grim… but nah, it’s Leona! Leona tried to run off by himself, like in the opposite direction of the loudmouth Sebek www Instead he’s stuck with Deuce…

LEONA syING hE’S GONNA SMSvk RIDDLE

Omg Vargas Camp canon to main story??? Deuce talks about a sports club camping trip to the mountains led by Vargas.

Ace shows up acting relieved he found Deuce and Leona. REALLY starts glazing Leona up too, talking about how strong he is and how he could easily overpower Riddle if they act as bait. Deuce becomes suspicious because Ace wouldn’t say stuff like that, even if he thought it. He demands to know what Ace’s dream was—but Ace cannot answer, so Deuce knows this must be darkness?

Leona tells Deuce he will turn some bushes to sand; he should sprint through them quickly.

nuuuUquUUYYR hE CALLS bdeuCE A GOOD BOyYYYTG OTL (like, loyal dog/follower of his dorm) AnD HE DIESNmF DiSLIKE THAT OTL

Leona claims to be a kind prince LOL uhhh he does The Plan and Deuce escapes! Leona is left behind to fight off dream!Ace and his heart suit goons.

Silver and Cater run into what I assume is dream!Trey. Cater wants he and Trey (who are familiar with the ever-changing maze) to split up and search for the first years, but dream!Trey wants to stick together.

Cater asks Silver if he ever gets tired of fighting the darkness. How does he do it?? Silver confesses he almost gave into it many times but his friends were always there to pull him out of it.

Oh, Cater’s dad has been transferred for his job less as of late, so now he is able to have more long term relationships. Cater also reveals he used to room with Trey prior to third year (where they have separate rooms).

Lore drop, Heartslabyul is the second oldest dorm.

Cater tells a story about how he pitched the idea of transferring to Scarabia with Trey, which dream!Trey agrees with. Turns out, it was a bait laid out by Cater to test of this Trey was real—and dream!Trey fell for it! He admits that he started to suspect Trey was fake when Trey wanted to stay together rather than split up. Trey, who is an older brother, would always prioritize the safety of the first years!

AHHHHHH they’re being overwhelmed and they’re running short on magic :<

Last group to check in with is Trey and Ortho…! Trey shares more about the plants in the garden. They’re magical and must be grown by hand. Some of the plants move if you command them to, bur some others are stubborn. In spring, they have a concert with the flowers. Ortho says the trees in Pomefiore are raised similarly to the Heartslabyul plants.

OKAY SO. Pomefiore is the oldest dorm, then Heartslabyul, THEN Diasomnia. This all but confirms a fan theory that the age of the dorms corresponds with each dorm's irl film inspiration release date. From oldest to youngest, that would be

Pomefiore- 1937

Heartslabyul- 1951

Diasomnia- 1959

Octavinelle- 1989

Scarabia- 1992

Savanaclaw- 1994

Ignihyde- 1997

Aaaaah here comes the dream!Cater. He claims he escaped alone.

Trey discusses Cater’s magic and how it’s like casting 2-3 spells at once since Cater has to use magic to manipulate each clone. Thus, the power level of Cater and his clones goes down. Meanwhile Riddle’s UM can impact multiple people at once and he can spellcast quickly.

HUUUUH Cater applied to duel Riddle not too long before his third year? Wait no, that’s a lie Trey came up with to entrap dream!Cater! Trey knew it must be a fake because he doesn’t see Cater as the kind of guy to leave others behind and escape to safety on his own.

Trey tells Ortho to escape without him…!

That leaves us with only Adeuce, Ortho, Grim, and Yuu able to escape. They regroup and find their captured allies tied to rose trees. Trey begs Riddle to wake up.

Deuce suggests to use his UM to defeat Riddle, and Ortho volunteers to be Deuce’s shield (~10 seconds) while he aims, since Riddle’s UM does not work on Ortho.

Rare moment of development for Yuu??? They have dialogue options and can express that they feel useless, constantly being protected and not able to help.

Ortho asks us to protect Idia’s tablet. And Ace is entrusted to protect Yuu and Grim!

dbjsnsksks Deuce’s plan doesn’t really work out. Riddle starts spamming spells that throw Ortho off; Deuce can’t get his aim quite right.

Grim tries to scamper out to fight but Ace holds him back. Ace becomes increasingly frustrated that he keeps being protected by others (Sebek, Deuce, Ortho) and can’t do anything to help.

AhHHHHHH Ace has his own little depression flashback moment 🥺 calling himself pathetic, lame, useless… unable to save anyone at all. But then words start coming to his head…!! He disrupts Riddle just as he’s able to collar Deuce!

“I’ll take your best/most precious treasure. Joker Snatch…!”

HE COLLARS RIDDLE :000 Deuce uses his UM and shovk Riddle awake… I can’t believe the class 2E boys both got physically beaten into submission 💀

WOW Cater NYOOMS to Riddle and hugs him?!.?:’snwkgelek

Sebek offers to carry Ortho, but Ortho is super heavy.

UHHHH here comes the darkness… Adeuce rush over to help Riddle, even though he commands them to go to someplace safe. (SEBEK CALLS ADEUCE BY THEIR NAMES AND NOT "HUMANS"!!!) Riddle commands Trey and Cater to remove Adeuce and they do as he says; we of course follow after Riddle as he sinks.

Riddle has his moment squaring off against his Phantom. It's quite interesting; his darkness exclaims that he must hang onto the seat because he has nothing else. Everyone loathes him, so he has to do everything he can to cling to power. Riddle calls himself out for the tyrant that he is and expels that darkness.

Rule 1 of the Queen of Hearts: to stay where you are, you must run with all of your might. From now on, Riddle says he will do just that.

He resurfaces in his home and is approached by his mother, who claims he fell asleep while reading about crocodiles in the Nile River? (Wh-Why is the Nile River canon in Twst when that’s a real world location that should not exist in this one...)

Riddle summons his magic and collars his mother, making her melt away into nothing. He gets a really cool line...! "I refuse to stand in front of a door that won't open anymore. Even if the opening is as narrow as a keyhole, I will pry this door open with my own hand and move forward. I will walk forward, on my own path!"

THIS IS REALLY FASCINATING BECAUSE ALL THE WAY BACK IN THE EPISODE OF HEARTSLABYUL MANGA... THEY USED A DOOR AND KEYHOLE IMAGERY TO DEPICT RIDDLE COMING OUT OF HIS OB

Right as Riddle regains his senses, he crashes through the floor of his dream and... somehow lands where Idia is?! He's busy programming.

There seems to he… maybe a reference to Idia’s Bloom Broom vignettes??? Idia’s best subject is Summoning and he seems to have summoned Riddle to him? And Riddle says that he has read Idia’s research papers before; this was also mentioned in said vignettes (Riddle expresses an interest in his papers).

Idia tells Riddle that the Final Boss, Malleus Draconia, is waiting on the other side of his bedroom door...!

THAT'S IT, THAT'S WHERE WE LEAVE OFF???????? WE'RE DEFINITELY NEARING THE END, BOYS...

Okay, so first major thought I had!! Riddle’s dream confirms many of the thoughts I have ha about Trey and his feelings toward Mrs. Rosehearts and his own role in Riddle’s trauma. I have legitimately NEVER heard Trey sounding this panicked or scared, not even when Riddle was about to OB. Trey hurriedly rushes to put away the strawberry tart out of fear, just waiting for Mrs. Rosehearts to start shouting hysterically at him. Ortho even comments about Trey’s vitals rocketing. This definitely reads to me as Trey being traumatized by that whole incident 💦

BIG BRo CATER CONTINUES… Him making up the lie about Leona being a great drummer was so dumb but it worked!! And then he cares so much about Riddle when he finally wakes… would never run off on his own and abandon his friends… 😭 HNNNNGH CATERRRRrrRRRRR WhEN i CmgEFt MY gaNDS ON YOUUUUUuUUU

And holy cow, there was SO much symbolism in Riddle’s dream 😳 dream!Mrs.Rosehearts’s sweets looking good but is insincere and tasting terrible, as opposed to Trey’s tart which looks terrible from the rough travel but is made with care and tastes good… Riddle wishing for a happy family life so his house is crammed with photos… parents that are always emotionally available for him… not having the pressure of being a mage or having a legacy to live up to… the house being a place that locks them inside (because it might feel like a prison to Riddle)... Not just symbolism for Riddle's desires too, but also tons of Alice in Wonderland references!! ASFIHBAYOSFPADFIA I'D WASTE SPACE IN THIS POST LISTING THEM ALL OFF, BUT JUST KNOW THEY'RE THERE AND THEY WERE AMAZING FOR ME TO EAT UP AS AN ALICE IN WONDERLAND STAN

It’s interesting how Chenya here serves as sort of a helpful NPC to us, similar to Kifaji. His actions are a lot more dubious here; he’s not strictly good and spends most of the dream siding with Riddle. Chenya only swaps sides when we convince him. I wonder if he, too, represents some self-aware part of Riddle??? Since Riddle was later shown trying to maintain the dream world even when he learned it was fake.

They tried to recapture the glory of book 6 by having the characters split up. I'm not sure if it worked as well (since each was kind of short and repeated a lot of the same lore about the Heartslabyul rose bushes), but it served its purpose. The best part was definitely how the Heartlabyul students used what they knew of each other to figure out the fakes. It's a very effective but subtle way to show how they've become more familiar with one another. I feel like this update overall was very lore-heavy. We learned new stuff about the dorms' ages, their protective measures, their plants, etc.

It was interesting to have a rare moment of character development for Yuu? They barely get anything in way of characterization, so that surprised me. I wasn't expecting ACE to get his whole Depression Arc in the middle of Riddle's dream either--but I guess whining hard enough works, because he finally FINALLY got his UM!! Still not sure how it works yet. It seems to let him steal/borrow or copy other's UM??? But Sebek describes it as "it seemed like you and Riddle swapped magic". We have to wait for more details to drop in a later update. Can't say I like the name for his UM though; it makes me think of him stealing a clown's wig. ASDULBIADBSPSAB So proud of Ace; with this, we now have the UMs and chants for every one of the NRC students!

Overall, Riddle really surprised me. His dream ended up being roughly THREE TIMES LONGER than the average dream 💀 Not sure if I like that pacing, but at least this was fun to dissect. I like that they seem to have put extra effort into this portion, especially since the game is called Twisted Wonderland. It feels like a homage to the original story, especially since that novel ended with Alice waking up. I loved that Riddle has an inner child that he represses, but that even his desires are "held back" by knowledge he doesn't have... like his parents' happy faces or what his mom's homemade baked goods might taste like. It made me feel for him. ASDIUBASDASBDBPASIqryrqp I kind of feel like a proud parent reading his cool line about finding his own path at the end. It's very different than himself earlier in the dream, ignoring difficult topics and actively denying reality, where he fears he will be left sad and alone OTL Ndhdiwjekw Not sure if I care for his actual childish behavior though… Slightly grating to me.

THE HORROR STYLE PRESENTATION WITH MALLEUS REALLY UNNERVED ME. I would shit bricks if I was Idia too, dang... I'm on the edge of my seat for the next installment. S-Surely book 7 will have to wrap up soon, right? RIGHT?????

[angelsworks]

Goldilocks and the Four Bears

Chapter 2

Poly!141 x reader

Summary: You wake to four strangers at the end of your bed.

Warnings: 18+, dark themes, mention of kidnap, mention of torture,

Note: Merry Christmas Everyone - I hope you all enjoy this chapter! 🎅🏻🎄

Masterlist -> Here

For the first time in a long time, you slept well. More than well actually, amazing.

Your body was supported at all points, neck raised slightly, head cushioned on a thick feather pillow. And the sheets were actual bedsheets. One matching set of dark grey linen sheets, adorning the king sized mattress.

A luxury compared to how you’ve slept in the last few months. You never could fall into a deep sleep. Knowing that at any point your captors would come back to your room, kicking you from your slumber and starting your torment once more. When you did try to sleep it was on the concrete floor. Curled in a ball, spread like a starfish, lying on your front. All positions that you’d tried and failed to have a restful night of sleep in.

It must have been the light that woke you, you think wistfully to yourself. A ghost of a smile graces your face at the sight. Light streaming in and hitting the bedspread. Particles of dust, dancing carelessly in the rays. Things were turning around.

You roll on to your back. Stretching your neck from side to side and groaning. Your eyes find the ceiling, a plain white rectangle above you. You take a moment or two to enjoy the silence of the morning, letting yourself wake up.

It’s when you turn to your other side to gaze out the other window, that your peace is disturbed. The window itself is fine, the glass is intact, with a thin frosting of snow on each pane. But the figure that leans beside it is not something you wanted to see, in the previously empty cabin.

A mix of a gasp and shout of surprise leaves your sore throat as you jump in place. Your body becoming rigid and tense with stress at the sight of the intruder. Now sitting more upright, you see that the stranger not alone. He stands with three other men, each more imposing than the last.

While the one by the window did frighten you, his boyish dimples and lean figure have nothing on how the Goliath by the dresser makes you feel. He stands tall, taller than the rest. His face covered by a skull painted balaclava. His grey eyes give nothing away as they stare blankly at you on the bed.

Between the two opposites, are another two men. One stood next to the nicest looking of the four, crossing his arms and trying to keep his face stoic. His hair is styled into a Mohawk and the sight reminds you of bad guys from old movies. His blue eyes stand out against his brutish appearance. Softening the fear that his very being brings you.

The only one left is the man who sits on a chair found in the room. His legs naturally spread a little due to the size of his thighs. His arms are crossed over his chest, causing the muscles in his forearms to bulge under his long sleeve shirt.

His face is blank, hiding what his true thoughts are and most likely what he truly feels. His face is adorned with a healthy amount of facial hear. The feature ages him and makes him look rugged. Your eyes draw to the thick line of hair that he harbours above his pink lips.

They say nothing. They just stare. The action unnerving you. Making you feel like some sort of zoo animal.

The sight of the four muscular and good-looking men put you on edge of course. But there’s something else. Urges that you’d never thought of before. Feelings were never part of the mission. You were determined to keep it that way.

“You sleep alright love?” The man sitting asks you. Him deciding to speak first and the fact that he others look towards him leads you to believe that he is the leader of the men. Despite the authority that they all seem to hold.

His voice is low and quiet. The sounds rumbling together at the low volume. The words are clear enough though, that you can make them out a few feet away on the bed.

You don’t respond, you can’t. What is he wanting you to say? Yes thank you, it was the best sleep of my life.

So you strengthen your resolve and stay silent. Slowly shifting your position so you’re sitting up more instead of lying down. You calm your breathing and focus your mind. You let your eyes glance over the men in the room again.

“Enjoy sleeping in a strangers sheets?” Again his voice is quiet, soft even. But his eyes tell a different story. His eyes that are squeezed into a glare, glower at you. When you meet his eyes it’s too intense. You feel as if you’re on trial for your life. Come to think of it you are.

You stand no chance against these men. In any capacity. If they wanted to kill you, they could. If they wanted to hurt you, they could. If they wanted to take you, they could.

The last thought resonates with you deeply. That’s when the a prick of fear starts to grow in the back of your head. You realised how lucky you were that Miasma had no interest in hurting you in any sort of sexual way. Despite there being many opportunities too, the guards found more enjoyment in kicking you around then fucking you.

“Not going to answer love? Fine.” The man stands from his chair. He moves to stand at the bottom of your bed, hands stretching out over the bed frame. His presence getting that much more suffocating. When he stands close you find no refuge from his gaze. You can’t look to the other men as much, only him. Only his cold, piercing eyes that tell you telling this man anything but the truth is a death sentence.

“What are you doing in our house?” His tone is sharper, harder. The softness found in the low rumble of his previous words is lost.

Your mind races through the cover story you had before infiltrating Miasma. The details around it are so fuzzy. It feels like you’ve got the right story but there are undecided parts.

What were you here for?

Start simple. If you start simple you can fill in the details later. Give yourself a chance to think.

“I got lost in the woods.” Good start, it’s vague enough. Now change your tone.

“I’d been walking for so long and I,” your voice cracks for good measure and you feel your eyes starting to water. You use the emotions from the last few hours to fuel your tears. You were scared. You were afraid. These were all real feelings, you just had to try and channel them. “I was just so cold and so desperate. This was the first place I’d seen in miles.”

For a moment you see his eyes soften. In a flash they’re back on your again. Hard and cold and unrelenting.

“What we’re you doing in the woods, in the middle of winter?” He asks you. Behind his imposing figure you see the one with the Mohawk shift in his stance, trying to get a better look of you.

Your story doesn’t have to just convince the man I front of you. It has to convince the other three in the room. The thought registers as you run through your cover story as quickly as you can.

“I’m a zoologist. I was out here studying brown bears before they went into hibernation. Then these men-” you pause your story, desperate to have a few tears running down your cheek before telling them the rest. You need to sell this or all you’re done, all you’ve survived, would be worth nothing now.

“Go on love, finish your story.” The soft tone has returned, no doubt that it was due to the sight of your tears running and sniffling nose.

“These men came in trucks,” your eye contact won’t be enough you realise, so you free your hands from your side and use them to talk. “It didn’t seem right so I abandoned my stuff and hid. They came looking round and they, they had guns. I snuck away quietly but they found me. They took me back to some sort of military base. Last night was when I managed to escape.”

It wasn’t far from the truth. At least now you’d have a way to explain the myriad of injuries that had been inflicted on you.

The man hums audibly. You aren’t sure if you’ve done enough to convince him. His face doesn’t give anything away.

“Why do yer have their clothes if yer were a captive?” A voice from behind the man calls out, thick with a Scottish accent.

The clothes by the fire.

The captain watched your reaction for a moment. You hope he doesn’t think the flash of realisation that was on your face a moment ago, is evidence you’re lying.

He moves to the side slightly so that you can look the Scotsman in the eye as you answer him.

“They took my clothes. It was the first thing I grabbed when I escaped.” The four men say nothing for a moment. Eyes dead set on you, on your movements, your body language. Contemplating your words, your tone, your story and your tears.

It feels like hours until the leader speaks up again. Hours of waiting for them to pass judgement on you and your future.

“They hurt you?” He asks, tone quiet once more.

You hesitate, “A little…why?” Why does he care? Why would any of them care?

The man ignores your question, “Do you need a first aid kit?”

The question confuses you. Is this some kind of trick.

Part of you wants to say yes. Knowing you’ve got cuts and bruises a plenty that could use cleaning or stitching in some cases. But your hyper aware of where they’re placed. To get to the cuts on your back you’d have to raise or take off your shirt. Not exactly something your eager to do in the four men’s company.

Your shake your head, eyes now wide and mutter out a no.

It causes the men’s eyes to narrow.

“Don’t lie to him lass. Ye wouldn’t want to see what happens if ye do.” The Scotsman threatens.

You bite your lip, “I can handle it. It’s nothing serious.”

“Serious or not, we need to see what damage has been done.” You don’t miss the we in that sentence. Do they all really need to see how banged up you are?

You still shake your head at the premise. The idea causing a pit to form in your stomach.

“You stay put love, we’ll find a first aid kit and bring you a drink. Don’t move.” He fixes you with a final look before he leaves the room. The rest of the men trailing after him.

When the last of the men leaves the room, he shuts the door. The sight of the dark oak door brings air back into your lungs, it lets the haze that’s filled your mind clear.

You need to run, you need to get out of here.

You need to return to Gunner. You don’t need to be getting involved with these four strangers. Who just so happen to be extremely handsome and muscular.

You don’t trust them. Not one bit. How do you know they aren’t Miasma, here to find out what you know and finish the job?

As quietly as you can you leave the warmth of the linen sheets and step on to the plush carpet. Creeping towards the now shut door as you gently pry it open. You have little time to get out the cabin before it’s too late.

You cringe as the door scrapes against the carpet. The sound is practically deafening in the silence you’ve created in the master bedroom. You pause for a moment, convinced the men from downstairs have heard you.

When you don’t hear the thunder of steps up the stairs, you begin your mission to escape. Moving as silently as you can along the carpeted floor. Hoping to get out before they find the first aid kit.

“What are we doing price?” Ghost finds himself asking in a hushed voice as the entirety of the 141 congregate in the kitchen.

“Looking for a first Aid kit lieutenant.” Price answers and returns to searching the cupboards.

Simon wants to scream at his captain. He wants to complain to his team. He wants to know why they’re entertaining this girl. No matter how pretty she may be, she’s lying about something. Simon hasn’t got this far in his career without being an expert in body language.

Price busies himself with rifling through the cupboards. Thankful that Laswell keeps all safe houses fully stocked.

His hands brush past plates and cans and glasses before coming to the last cupboard. Finally his hands grasp the large green box, packed with medical supplies.

When his gaze moves from the first aid kid, he sees his men staring out him. Looking confused at the sight.

“I’ve got Laswell doing background on the insignia on the jacket. I want to see she’s lying. Looking at those so called injuries will do that.” Price tells the team as he checks the first aid box before taking it upstairs.

It seems the rest of the team h av e a permanent frown on their face.

“I just don’t think any of this is right.” Ghost mutters. “It all just feels wrong.”

“Aye, she looks so frail and small. How can a lass like that escape a group of armed men?” Soap questions.

“She’s either insanely lucky or has some sort of special training.” Gaz voices to the others.

The thought permeates within their heads. Are you some sort of secret agent? Able to escape from armed men at hidden facilities?

The sound of a creak breaks them from their thoughts.

[clockwayswrites]

City Pigeons Bleed Green - Part 24

masterpost

“We should make H— Jason spend some time in here,” Danny said. He was good with the rest of the name now, but he still struggled with with Jason. He was trying. “He could use the reason to relax.”

“I do not believe that Todd is capable of relaxing,” Damian said with a little frown and Danny was pretty sure meant Damian was uncertain, but other people tended to think that it meant Damian was judging them.

“Sure he can. He makes a great pillow too,” Danny said. He leaned over and bumped his shoulders against Damian’s. “Totally bet if you just just sat down and leaned against him, he wouldn’t do anything.”

“Tch.”

“Okay, sure, half of that would be because he’d be too shocked, but really. He’s secretly a cuddler but, like, in a totally different way than Dick. Jason is more like Cass is.”

Damian’s brows were knitted together, but he gave a considering little nod at that.

Danny was glad that Damian went through the door to the hall first. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, exactly, but being out of the apartment now felt wrong and bad and… scary. Danny knew that had delayed them taking him to the Manor and was making some of them anxious, but Danny just couldn’t… it was hard to shake, even if everywhere they went had been safe.

“How were the kittens, Dandelion?” Jason asked. He was leaning against one wall and Lacey stood next to him, looking at something on her phone.

“Pointy,” Danny said with a little smile, “and very cute.”

“We are going to go see the dogs now instead,” Damian said.

“Okay,” Lacey said with a smile. “Your brother and I were talking about what might work for you. I think we have a few options, but I actually have someone in mind for you to meet first of the bunch. She might not work at all but… I have a hunch.”

“As ludicrous as it sounds, Ms. Lacey’s hunches do often play out,” Damian said. “Which dog are we going to see?”

“You haven’t met her yet. She just came here from another shelter because the last one didn’t have the space for her. Before that she was out in the suburbs where she had been adopted, but she kept trying to herd all the other animals and children. They got her from a shelter where she had been surrendered by her owners because they moved to a new apartment that wouldn’t let a dog like her in.”

Danny frown grew as Lacey talked. “Oh, wow… she’s been through a lot of homes, hasn’t she?”

“She has, and it’s really not her fault. She’s only a year and a half old, so she’s still a bit of a puppy and will need training, but she’s a real sweetheart and I think she just needs the right person to love her back.” Lacey paused in front of a door and opened it to some sort of waiting room. “Now, she is a large dog, so I’ll keep her on a harness when I bring him in and you let me know when you’re comfortable for her to come close, okay?”

“Okay,” Danny agreed. He knew he had told Damian not small, but he was suddenly a little concerned by how large was large.

Jason must have been able to tell, because he led Danny over to the small couch to sit down with him while Damian scooted the chair he chose closer to Danny’s open side.

Very, was the answer to how large was large a few minutes later when Lacey brought in a huge dog. The bright red harness barely visible through the mass of black fur that seemed to stand straight out from the dog in a massive mane.

“Okay, come on girl, down,” Lacey said, drawing out the words.

When the large, deep black eyes turned to her, she pointed purposefully at the ground. The dog huffed and settled on the floor looking like some avant guard throw pillow. She snuffed curiously at the group and shuffled forward a few inches on her belly before peering up at Lacey to see if she was noticed.

“Stay. Like I said, still a puppy,” Lacey said fondly.

“What breeds do we suspect she is?” Damian asked.

“She’s definitely a large part chow,” Lacey answered. “She has the black mouth and everything. We’re guessing black lab maybe as some of the rest or some other sporting dog. From those breeds, and her behavior so far, she’s going to be loyal and protective. She will need to be exercised as specially at this age she’ll have a lot of energy, but I know you have the yard to let her run. Fetch or retrieval games will be great stimulation for her and walks can probably be kept pretty short, but I know that Damian could help you train her. Do you want to come over here and let her smell your hand? Or we could just let her settle in and wander the room.”

“I’ll, um…” Danny trailed off as he moved to sit down on the ground at Jason’s feet. He leaned forward and offered his hand, stretching out as far as he could.

The mass of fluff crept forward a few inches, then a few more, and the last few to where she was close enough to sniff at Danny’s hand. The curly tail started to wag before the dog gave Danny’s hand a lick.

A small smile lit up Danny’s face. “Oh, you’re just a big fluffy sweetheart, aren’t you?”

“She really is. She gives me the biggest puppy dog eyes every time someone passes her and doesn’t give her attention. She really wants nothing more than to be with people or other pets and part of a family,” Lacey said.

Danny watched the dog snuff at Danny’s hand before he decided that it was probably okay to move forward a little more so that he could pet the dog. His fingers sank into the thick black fur and the curly tail started to wag.

“She’s kinda like a big teddy bear,” Danny said, completely missing the look that Damian and Jason exchanged behind his back at that statement.

“Chows are like that.,” Lacey agreed. “They get a bad rep because they can be really protective of their owners, so if she’s the dog you go with, you will need to work on socializing her. Taking her to the dog park or things like that would be a good step.”

“It will help that there is such a large amount of family and acquaintances coming and going from the manor,” Damian added. “But if she is the dog that will be yours, we can easily set up a plan for socialization.”

“I, um, I’ve never adopted a pet before. How do I know if she’s the right one?” Danny asked.

“Seeing if you get a long is a good start. With a big dog like her, I think you should walk him a little and play some. We can try some tricks too and see how she listens to you,” Lacey said. “We have a two week trial window where if you think she’s the right dog, she’ll go home with you and you can see how it all works out. If it doesn’t, she comes back here no issues.”

Danny took in a calming breath and let it out. “Okay, let’s see how it goes.”

The dog was a lot. There was no doubt about that what with her size, but she did seem very eager to listen. She apparently walked very well with Danny, even if that was almost sandwiched up against Danny’s side between him and the road. It reminded him of how Jason always walked, as if guarding Danny from the world.

There back at the shelter now. Danny buried his fingers in the dog’s thick fur, ruffling it idly.

“What do you guys think?” he asked his brothers.

“I think that she will be a loyal dog for you,” Damian said, “and that training her may also be beneficial for you.”

“That,” Jason said, “and that she likes you already just like you like her already. I think the only real question is what’s her name going to be?”

Danny looked down at the almost bottomless seeming brown eyes that were staring adoringly back up at him. “Ursa. Her name’s Ursa.”

-

Ursa took to the Manor immediately— or at least took next to being by Danny’s side in the manor. His bed seemed much smaller with her laying next to him, but he had a feeling it he woke up that night with a nightmare that it wouldn’t last long.

His fingers tightened in her mane as he took a breath and hit send on the text message to Babs.

Her name is Jasmine Fenton.

[weirdmarioenemies]

It's the first post of Pride Month! You know who SHOULDN'T be proud?

Hammer Bro and his ilk, that's who! They should be ASHAMED, because they are emblematic of an issue I have with emblems in Mario spinoffs. Look at his emblem. That's just his head from the side! What's the point of that? His head is already well-represented by virtue of being a prominent part of his actual design, which we are already looking at. That makes this, to me, a bad emblem!

An emblem, generally, to me, should not just be a depiction of the character. It should be some kind of iconography they're known for. In Mario Party 8, Hammer Bro's emblem was a hammer. That's what I mean! That's his thing, and it's not immediately visible in his design. As an Italian chef would say, "Splendid! (but with an Italian accent)"! I can see what they might be going for with the Bros, maybe giving them a more soldier-like aesthetic and emphasizing the helmets, but it is simply boring. Give Hammer Bro a hammer, Fire Bro a fireball, Ice Bro an iceball, and Boomerang Bro a boomerang. As a French chef would say, "Bellissimo!" Now, I want to- hold on, what? That chef is a fraud! Get outta here.

Now, I want to emphasize that a Depiction Emblem, as I'll call them, is not by default a bad thing. Here are some I find quite good, due to how they work with established concepts and imagery! Shy Guy's mask is the core of the character, so it's a good emblem. Dry Bones is a skeleton, and a Skull is basically the mascot of the "Skeletons" franchise, so I'm fine with that. Bowser's stylized face has been representing him and the Koopa Troop as a whole for a LONG time, so it works perfectly for him. Bowser Jr. and the Koopalings follow suit, which makes perfect sense. Toad's icon looks not just like his head, but like a Super Mushroom. And Petey Piranha's is not only simplified, but facing directly upward, in a Piranha Plant's favorite attack pose. These and others all work quite nicely!

Now I'd like to discuss some that work poorly. Some Mario characters who got their picture taken for their karting license, took one look, and thought "yep, that's me. That's what I'm all about." And they're technically not WRONG... but they need to learn about the pizzazz!

WIGGLER

This is one I remember being disappointed by way back in 2012, well before I was the Super Mario Scholar I now fancy myself. On the low 3DS resolution, I initially thought it was a strange flower, but then I realized it's just Wiggler's face! It's cute, but so predictable. Even if there's not specifically a problem with the emblem, I wish there was a little more thought put into choosing it, you know?

For Wiggler, I would suggest a flower! It had a flower emblem in Mario Power Tennis, representing the one on its head, and I think a rare birds-eye view of that flower would be cute. Alternatively, they could do something like Diddy Kong's icon, which is more of a pattern than an individual icon, and make it look like a Wiggler segment. The emblem is already round, and Wiggler's length and segments are one of its major aspects!

MONTY MOLE

I like Monty Mole. I like Monty Mole's face. But again, no pizzazz! Maybe the framing is supposed to evoke Whack-A-Mole, but I think that's a stretch. Monty Mole is never really associated with any props, besides rocks and dirt clumps, but those are not very visually interesting. In this case, I actually think a full-body depiction would be good! Monty Mole's signature pose is the one it does with its arms up while popping out of the ground. Mario Kart knows this well, with it featured in Monty's trick animations, and the arms being present on the Monty Mole Mii costume's helmet. So, for Monty's emblem, I would suggest a depiction or perhaps silhouette of this pose, possibly including the hole beneath, if it's not too cluttered!

KAMEK

This is one that especially bothers me, because I love Kamek so much, and love to play as him! This emblem does immediately strike one as Kamek, yes, but you know by now that I will die without an IV pumping Stylistic Representative Mario Pizzazz into my bloodstream. Kamek ABSOLUTELY has unique imagery associated with him, and by that I mean the shapes seen whenever he uses his magic! Whether on their own, from a wand, in a puff of smoke, or on a full purple background, I think they would make an excellent icon.

These next two will have backgrounds because they're from Mario Party instead of Mario Kart. Sowwy

NINJI

This one seems obvious. Ninji gets a shuriken. It may not have used any in mainline games, but it has in Paper Mario. Easy! But not as easy as the next one!

SPIKE

Spike Pog may be powerful, but it is also a bit baffling. WHY Spike Pog? This is indeed the side profile of Spike as it throws a spike ball. And that is its Iconic Action. So its emblem represents that it throws spike balls... but it shows its face while doing it, rather than the spike ball itself! What the heck!

It was his icon in Mario Golf where he was an NPC. Maybe they thought it looked a little bland? I think they could make it look better. Just so strange!

That's MOST of the characters, this applies to, but there are some I'm just sort of split on: Funky Kong, Nabbit, King Bob-omb, and Poochy. They are all Depictions, but I kind of can't think of anything better for them? Funky's is nicely stylized, Nabbit's is stylized nicely enough, and the other two, I just can't really think of something. King Bob-omb, I think, NEEDS his mustache represented, and Poochy is a bit too weird of a dog to be represented by something like a paw print.

All of this has been my opinion, of course! I would like to hear what YOU think of these emblems, and if YOU think there are better options, and even if YOU think my suggestions for replacement are idiotic poopy garbage! (don't say it like that though please be nice)

[noellefan101]

Staying on Campus During Winter Break, Twisted Wonderland-Pt 2

Reader cant go home to their family during winter break, and seems a little down in the dumps when their boyfriend talks about what they'll do at home themselves. What would he do to fix their now sad s/o? (+ some headcanons for the character, some with reader in mind)

Characters: Sebek, Idia, Ruggie, Kalim, Leona and Ace(all seperate) x Reader(gn)

saw someone else write smt like this and got ideas for it myself :> Original post

Part 1

Warnings: Reader is not yuu/mc, either your family lives too far away or are occupied, maybe they're real shitty you choose. reader is usually the same grade as the character, very ooc. gn reader

Sebek

If he sees you down he'll immediately assume someone dare harm you, so please deal with that first.

Although after finding out about your predicament, he'll resume to, uhhh, doing Sebek things. Like yelling to "comfort" you, while frantically texting his parents to request permission for your stay.

He would not usually have wanted you to meet his family like that, preferring more traditional ways, but he'll set that aside for a moment in an effort to comfort his beloved.

In the rare chance that his parents don't allow your stay, he'll call you every hour to ensure you're doing alright. Although he won't actually admit that's why he's calling.

And it absolutely isn't because he misses your voice, no matter how little time has passed since the last time he called. What a preposterous assumption.

"HUMAN! THIS IS FOOLISH, YOU SHOULD NOT FEEL SAD OVER SUCH TRVIAL MATTERS! WHY? WEL-WELL BECAUSE *cough* because you may stay with me and my family instead... if you'd like to that is, so you won't have to stay at campus.."

(he hates his ears, because they aren't like the other fae. But he has 100% tried to mold something around his ears to make them pointed, like that fake skin or just clay.)

Idia

He does NOT wanna go home, and is so happy he now has an excuse to stay with you instead of being put to work at STYX. Although he can see why you'd be bummed out, cuz yeah NRC sucks.

Yes, he loves his parents and all, but he can't deal with all the side quests he gets whenever he just exists. And there's no way he brings you to STYX when he'll just get quizzed 24/7 as well.

Also sees no reason for you to be sad about it, but understands how horrible it is to stay at school when you just want to relax back home.

Idia will try his best to comfort you, but might just leave that to Ortho and suggest some games to play with him to distract you. He has a whole list of things he thinks you'll enjoy, plus some of your favorite snacks.

You'll be staying in his room for most of the winter break, playing games and watching anime with him and Ortho while chatting about lots of stupid things.

"Y-Yeah you're uhh welcome, or whatever. Now theres this anime that just came out, and uuhh you kinda promised me you'd watch something with me. It should cheer you up too.. ew thats so corny."

(Despite calling a bunch of stuff 'outdated crap' when it comes to not so modern technology, he definitely keeps and looks for old cd's for his favorite games and maybe some songs. like a true dweeb.)

Ruggie

Ears down, sad eyes, frown and tears in the corner of his eyes... that's what you'll be looking at for the next five minutes when you told Ruggie about your predicament.

But that doesn't mean he's taking you home with him, no, it's precisely because he can't that he's devastated. I mean he could, but that would be such a bad idea and you'd have it worse than at NRC. And he'd like to prepare you for that, since he doesn't want to experience that without being a good street smartie.

It's just now he also has to debate whether to stay with you or go home to gramma and the other hyenas back in the slums... He loves you a lot and trusts that you will be fully safe at campus, so he chooses to go home for the break as previously planned.

Please call him whenever you get endangered of any sort, does no matter if you just fell and got a scratch. Call. Him. He needs to now his partner is alright, and would rather not get back only then knowing you got hurt.

"Hello? Aah, Sweetcakes! You ok? Did something happen? ...Hey I'm busy you know.. come on, when i said you could call me i was talking about when you're in danger, not this. No i like when you talk it's not that. What, you flustered now? shhishishi"

(has a handmade plush thats in absolute dismay and screaming to be put down. its made from rags that couldnt be worn anymore and put to new use by his grandmother. leona has given it looks many times, being disgusted by its existence whenever he spots it. ruggie is just too attached to let it go though.)

Kalim

You should really have told him sooner, and he would have properly invited you to the scalding sands with him. But that doesn't mean you aren't coming home with him no. It'll just be more like staying at your boyfriends house, and not as if you were at a super expensive hotel.

Because yeah, he loves sharing a room with you, but you would probably have had your own apartment sized room to stay in, had you talked to him earlier.

Yet you didn't do that, and can stay close to Kalim during your instead. So take that as a good thing.

He's going to make sure you're having the time of your life, not wanting you to focus on anything even mildly depressing for the whole of winter break. Taking you anywhere you'd find fun the minute a smile even dares to disappear from your pretty face.

But he's very quick to cheer you up when you mentioned it to him at first. Like even Jamil was ready to uplift your mood, but mostly because he didn't want to cook for yet another party if that Was Kalims idea to brighten your mood.

"No I'm very sure you can come over during winter break, I even made sure to check in with Jamil this time! It'll be ok, you'll have fun with me instead of staying here, at campus. So please start smiling again for me!"

(he's a big collector of plush toys, you cant convince me he wouldnt be. he buys so many cute ones, and he can have animals in fabric instead of actual breathing ones. thats the only thing Jamil likes about them though.)

Leona

Almost ignored your 'sad whines about winter break' when you visited during lunch, but he could clearly hear your saddened tone and decided to make you stop whining.

How does he do this? Interrupting you mid 'whine' stating you're staying in sunset savanna with him, so shut up it's nap time.

He's dragging you home with him if he has to, but only because Kifaji is annoying him too much, and if he needs to deal with them it has to be alongside you.

Would have done this even if you could stay with your own family over the break, though housing you because of that was a perfect excuse. He mostly wants to avoid being the subject of family gossip, and this provides an easy way out... Hopefully.

You'll have a nice time in sunset savanna though, he will make sure of that, for a small price.. Said price is being his pillow for the whole trip, no excuses.

You're in a car and there isn't enough space for it, plus its dangerous? He doesn't care. Since he made sure it was a really fancy vehicle with enough space in the back to fit at least 10 people. It'll be a long ride, so get comfy.

"Then you're staying over with me, now would you stop whining so much and let me nap here in peace. No, that was not me telling you to leave, get back and sit down. Now. Finally, thank you."

(trying to get him to eat a salad would be like trying to bathe a cat, 99% impossible to do without force and weird tactics. You'll also be scratched during it. a lot.)

Ace

Oh you poor unfortunate soul, you'll just have to stay here at campus and be so, so lonely without him- Don't look at him like that, he's just teasing, relax. Of course you aren't actually staying here, you're staying with him, idiot.

Too shy to actually ask if you'd want to stay with him, and couldn't help but tease you for a little to see that sad little pout- Okay, okay he'll shut up, just please put that book down.

He does not care if his parents even agree to house you, his brother had friends over all the time so it should be fine. But now that he's remembering his brother is also coming over, he's not looking forward to winter break so much anymore.

If his family starts asking too many questions about you two, he's out. Excuses spewing out his mouth as he drags you outside, talking about this super cool place he forgot to show you.

"Come onnn, you look so stupid when you're sad, with a cute little pout as well. How could I not want to see your- okay, okay yeah I'll shut up now. Don't hit me with that book, put it down, it looks heavy. Phew, starting to think you want me dead here."

(cracks his fingers a lot, he hates the sounds they make but man does it feel good after practicing card tricks for 2 hours, no breaks. is also disgusted when Deuce does it, like gags sometimes kinda disgusted)

Thx for reading, love ya! - Masterlist

[fallstheking]

loser!ellie college headcanons

dating loser!ellie // pt 2 of ??

pt 1

mdni

contains ; nsfw: fingering (both receiving), oral (both receiving), strap (r!receiving), groping, making out , slur used by character who can reclaim, smoking (weed)

• loser!ellie who had girlfriends before but never like you

• loser!ellie who still comes to get coffee from your work every day just to see you

• loser!ellie who takes you on dates to her favorite diner once a week

• loser!ellie who turned red the first time you invited her to come in after a date

• loser!ellie who sat on your couch with you on her lap making out and stopped to make sure you watched 'a really good part' of bojack horseman (any todd-centric plot)

• loser!ellie who was glad it became routine to come over after dates and watch adult animation on your couch and maybe make out

• loser!ellie who spent the night for the time because she accidentally fell asleep to the bobs burgers movie

• loser!ellie who woke up to you in a t shirt and underwear making breakfast and lost her fucking mind

• loser!ellie who ate you out for breakfast

•loser!ellie who immediately got addicted to eating you out

• loser!ellie who acts like she doesn't want to play roblox everytime you ask, reluctantly agrees, and ends up having more fun than you

• loser!ellie who eventually is the one asking you to play roblox

• loser!ellie who "babe these fags keep voting the worst outfits in dress to impress"

• loser!ellie who rolls her eyes when you tell her she can't call nine year olds fags

• loser!ellie who gets her account suspended regularly

• loser!ellie who took you to meet joel and sarah a month into dating

• dad!joel who was all "don't hurt my babygirl or i'll find you"

• dad!joel who found out you had very good music taste

• dad!joel who by the end of the night was telling ellie he would kick her ass if she messed things up with you

• loser!ellie who took you back to her apartment and told you she loved you for the first time now that joel approved

• loser!ellie who kissed you so softly on her couch and carried you to her room

• loser!ellie who blushed and whispered that ahe loved you over and over again while you fingered each other under the covers

�� loser!ellie who is the most reactive bottom on the planet and makes so much noise when you eat her out

• loser!ellie who is an absolute sucker for sharing clothes and aftercare (baths, smoking, cuddling and watching tv)

• loser!ellie who starts staying the night or having you stay the night literally every night

• loser!ellie who wakes you up playing far cry and until dawn and rdr2 when shes high and forgets what volume is

• loser!ellie who posts this shit

• loser!ellie who loves missionary with your legs over her shoulders, so she can look you in the eye and whisper how beautiful you are and how much she loves you and reach down to play with your clit when she feels you getting close

• loser!ellie who is the master of finger banging

• loser!ellie who plays guitar at you constantly

• loser!ellie who is standing in your fridge in a shark t-shirt and boxers and fuzzy socks drinking orange juice straight out of the bottle when you come home from class one night

"i just let myself in"

• loser!ellie who is somehow surprised when you ask her to just move in

• loser!ellie who is fully moved in literally the next day

• loser!ellie who takes you to concerts

• loser!ellie who is insanely fucking good at pool but the worst ever at any card game

• loser!ellie who takes you to trivia nights and you guys absolutely fucking crush that shit everytime

• loser!ellie who is so so so down bad for you

taglist

@vahnilla

[templeofelysium]

worshipping the chthonic gods

first, a note on cthonic vs ouranic: the line between these gods is one that is not really as stark as it can be portrayed. many gods have both ouranic and chthonic aspects, and neither make them any more "good" or "bad" than the other. chthonic gods are not evil gods, at least no more than any ouranic god. all deities have the capability of doing good and evil, but are largely ambivalent in nature. the advice listed below is not set in stone, simply provided as gentle guidance. if you have suggestions, feel free to add them in the comments/reblogs! :)

LIBATIONS/OFFERINGS

In Ancient Greece it was very common for offerings to the chthonic gods to be given in the form of libation--a drink (or any liquid) poured into the ground. Solid offerings, like food, were often burned in their entirety to ash or left to rot, instead of being partially shared by the offeror. Incense was not as commonly used since the smoke travels upwards, towards the heavens.

I suggest disposing of/keeping ashes and rotted food outside or burying them, seeing as chthonic sometimes refers to "-of the earth." This would be similar to how curse tablets were treated in Ancient Greece, as Hermes, messenger of the gods, would deliver them unto their underworld-ly receiver from there.

If you can't do that, consider pouring your libations down the sink or flushing them down the toilet (ONLY do this with water-based liquids, oil and honey will clog up your sink in no time flat). It's not ideal, but it gets the job done.

Common libations include: coffee, blood (animal or your own, we'll get to that at the end), honey (instead of wine), milk

Common offerings include: meat, barley/grain, oil, cheese

PRAYER

In many cases, prayers to ouranic deities are directed upwards, into the sky or delivered unto the wind by voice, song, or some sort of poem. In the case of the chthonic gods, we should be directing them downwards, towards the underworld where they reside. This may include extending your hands with palms facing down, putting your head down, or just imagining your prayers being sent below. The only exceptions to this may be Persephone, who resides in the heavens for half of the year, and Hermes, who can be considered both ouranic and chthonic.

Other recommendations I can make are: light a candle, even if you're not going to use it for pyromancy; light some incense (I do this for focus and cleansing, not so much for the deity); and perform it at night. It's not mandatory, of course, to perform your prayers at night, it's just that in antiquity ouranic activities (festivals, prayer, etc.) were done during the day and often directly enshrouded in sunlight. We can assume, therefore, that a chthonic prayer or festival should occur during the night, especially if being directed towards Hekate or Nyx.

ALTARS/SHRINES

In Ancient Greece, temples to the ouranic gods were constructed so that their doorways would directly face the sun, thus illuminating the inside (and often the main statue(s), too). We can assume, then, that our chthonic altars/shrines should be located somewhere out of the direct sunlight. This can be in a dark spot, like a closet or isolated room--or it can just simply be in a corner furthest from the sun's rays.

Again, there may be some exceptions to this: Hermes, under his ouranic epithet(s), Persephone, for her time in the heavens, and Hekate, for her association with the moon.

DIVINATION

For the most part divination with the chthonic gods is conducted in much the same way as with the ouranic. Of course, when calling upon these deities you'll want to face towards the ground, and perhaps even conduct these sessions in partial darkness. Again, maybe you could light a candle or even pour a libation before a really big reading.

I mostly use pendulums and tarot, but I've been experimenting with meditation and have had some luck. What works for ouranic deities should work just as good for chthonic, you just might have to shift your approach a little.

Some good tarot spreads for working with chthonic deities:

"Fork in the Road" spread-- for Hermes or Hekate

"The Tower" spread-- for Hermes or Hades

"The Self Exploration" spread-- for any

"The Bat" spread-- for Hades or Persephone or Nyx

EXTRAS

--Consider offering blood if you're able! Animal blood that is sourced from ethical farms is neither morally reprehensible or illegal and can be sourced from a variety of places. Offering your own blood is also a possibility, but for this I would not recommend more than a pinprick. There are limits to how much pain you should be incurring on yourself for your deities. If you have to check your blood sugar often, maybe you can soak up excess blood with some cotton and bury it outside. Make sure to always clean your wounds properly and do not engage in this behavior for the purpose of self-mutilation. That, I can assure you, your deities would not appreciate. Don't be stupid.

--Snakes are commonly associated with almost all chthonic deities, or just the Underworld in general. We see this the most with Hermes, who is pictured with two snakes wrapped around his caduceus. The god Asclepius is also pictured with a staff with a single snake on it. Asclepius is the god of medicine, and (before being deified) was killed by Zeus for making people practically immortal.

--Chthonic deities are the best places to turn to for spirit work, protective, and baneful magic. You're looking to contact a spirit? Turn to Hades. You're looking for protection against spirits/demons? Turn to Hekate or Hermes. You're looking to cast a curse? Turn to Persephone or Hekate.

dividers by @vibeswithrenai