#Country puzzle game

[sibillascribbles08]

Lil doodle for Crow Country, v cool game

ID under the cut

[ID: A digital lineless drawing of a girl named Mara. She's drawn from the bust up, surrounded by green vines. Here eyes are covered in shadows, there's some blood on the front of her dress and coming down the far side of her face. A crow sits perched on her shoulder, eye red. Her hair is a lavender purple, and the same color pours down from above onto the top of her head, making the rest of it look like liquid. There is text above her head that reads: "If anyone asks my name is Mara." The word Mara has some faint blood splatters on it.]

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I was a grandmaster at a game that involved competitively placing made-up borders of countries in the correct places. Like a jigsaw puzzle. But fictional countries. And I was really good at it.

[moregraceful]

It feels like getting pulled underwater—the sharp sideways tug, the slight drag of resistance, then falling, falling, till the waves close over his head. But Logan can breathe when he rights himself again, even if the light has a watery filter to it and the voices have a distant echo. // Sometimes Logan gets a glimpse of guys who've been long gone from the teal, clustered at the far end of the bench or sitting in the box across the ice. He heard Jason's voice in the hallway loud and clear, that infectious laugh. And he could have sworn he saw Raffi fucking Torres getting out of a car in the players' lot. Something tells him not to look up the rosters.

Commissioned @impmakesart to make a painting based on the Sharks' Cali Fin hype reel + the flip side by frausorge. Imp was amazing to work with and I could not be more emotional about this piece and so, so pleased with how it turned out!! 🙇🏻‍♂️🙇🏻‍♂️ Commission him here. Thank you Imp!

[bestdressedchuuya]

Ok I wanna talk abt crow country cuz I just finished it tonight and I really loved it, major spoilers under the read more 👇

So as soon as we saw the first "guests" and how humanoid they were, I knew they used to be human, and I kinda figured that they were originally park guests who got blobbed up due to the crazy shit happening right underneath the park. And like... I did feel kinda bad at first shooting up monsters who used to be human but it's like eh, typical horror trope (I mean that's basically what zombies are) so I got used to it. BUT THEN you find out that they're humans from the future who are desperately trying to communicate a message to you despite the fact that their bodies and minds are completely falling apart and I dunno abt anybody else but that made me feel WAYYY worse about blasting their heads off. LIKE...they are using the last semblance of their human thoughts to desperately write out the year they came from in blood all over the place and it's so tragically falling on completely deaf ears!! BIG OOF. MY GUY EDWARD CROW FUCKED UP BIG TIME.

[sailforvalinor]

.

[i-mode]

so many cool characters i wanna draw hrmhmm

[diba-best-music]

quiz game PT 2 😱 name these countries ❓ shorts #shorts30 #riddles #puzzl...

[g4zdtechtv]

Good Vibes Gaming’s 8 Bits - Keep the Change, You Filthy Wizeman

Featuring a Halo 2 secret familiar to Cheat! viewers...

(SUB TO GVG)

(SUPPORT GVG ON PATREON)

(THE GVG STORE)

[lmaonade]

crow country isn't on the steam front page but it releases today and i wanted to promote it again because i think this games demo was super awesome and it's really well polished and bad ass.

ps1-era inspired horror exploration adventure game with notes taken from the big names like silent hill and resident evil. with a mysterious theme-park setting and awesome atmosphere, this games been a delight so far. includes an exploration mode for people who wanna experience the puzzle aspect of games like this, but without the combat.

[oraclekleins]

hello hello!! i discovered you a few hours ago and LOVE your content<3

could i request a joost klein x gn!reader where the reader is also competing in eurovision, representing {readers country} and basically they are already dating and joost kind of gets jealous because readers new make up artist got a little TOO touchy.. once they get back to their shared hotel room he expresses that jealousy by getting a bit more clingy?

when reader tried to ask about whats wrong he just kisses them or brushes it off as not important :3

thank you if you accept my request and have a great day <3

ill be 🩵anon if that’s okay!

Hii! Thanks for being so sweet, nonnie! Hope this is up to your liking. 💙 I changed the prompt a little iiif that's alright, so here's kind of an aftermath of that. ^^ I love any feedback.

You're Overcomplicating Things . . -> Jealous!Joost Klein x Reader

The buzzing of Joost's phone wakes him with a start. 

His head turns a bit to the side, slowed from exhaustion. Joost's vision is still catching up with him, the living room gauzed in a radial blur; he feels like he’s wading through quicksand — dragging himself to sit up, before his arm catches another body. You're curled onto the left side of the bed, unmoving —  the pillow your arm was wrapped around having ended up on the floor. There’s a spot of drool on your hoodie, plush lips tugged along the bold Eurovision logo of your sleeve. 

“Morning,” Joost mumbles, patting the cushions for his phone. His voice is groggy, scratched dry from the shitty beers you two had downed the night before. He grimaces at the spit webbed on the top of his mouth, flicks at it with his tip of tongue in disgust. He moves to gently push at your leg; it’s hot, too hot for you to lounge this close; there’s a pool of sweat sinking into the crook of his chest — he feels gross, sticky, uncomfortable. There's a heavy silence in the air. It feels like you did something wrong, but you can't place your finger on it. You stir in response, a whine of annoyance rumbling from your throat. You blink over to see what Joost's all worked up about, who’s grabbing his phone from the nightstand, pinching at his forehead.

"Good morning — what's wrong?" You're still waking up, clearing the spit from your throat. Biting back a cough, you manage to sit up, pressing on the wrinkles from your shirt.

Joost offers you a tired smile, moving to kiss your forehead. "Long day ahead, right? Hop to it." A bit of enthusiasm pokes out of his voice as the words die out, his lips trailing to your jaw, pressing into it. It feels like he's hiding from you, even when he's slotted into your side like a puzzle piece, lazily tracing his fingers against your hip.

He's sulking, the boy-shape trying to disappear into your skin, upset and loathing.

Your fingers find his curls, gently raking your nails across his scalp. He makes a noise of satisfaction, face nestling closer to your collarbone.

You would know his envious touches through death. There were small, red marks around your waist where he had been pressing into it, marking you, yet.. gentle. Apologetically, he rubbed his thumb over them, turning his face from you.

"Joost," you sigh, "you think it's stupid," he perks up. "Right? That's why you won't tell me."

His bottom lip is caught between his teeth. "Your makeup, it looked good yesterday. The new artist. Good." Joost fixates on the blanket under you both, looking anywhere but at you. "Good connection."

"Good connection?" He's already kissing the words from your mouth, stealing them from you. If he took them, then he wouldn't have to hear you say them. Listen to you accuse him — be disappointed. "Joost, let me," you're tired of this game already, and he's holding you like he can't get enough, arms tightly wrapped around your waist. You can feel the tense of panic in him, cold throughout his veins, a tremble to his grip.

You're prying his fingers away — careful, soft, not like a punishment. A warning. "You need to talk to me."

Joost is quiet for a minute. He's thinking. His uncomfortable grin is full of teeth, ones that graze on your irritability, biting into you like a peach. He doesn’t wipe the juice from his mouth —  instead lets it dry on his chin, picking at the stain. A rash of his own, festering nerves.

He sits up. Joost's tank hugs his figure. His hair is coiffed into loose, blonde strands of fray, kissing the back of his neck — bouncing when he tilts his head. He frowns. You wrap your arm around his shoulder, keeping him afloat.

"You do not rehearse today, yes?" Joost asks after a bit. You want to make a remark about how you have his schedule memorized, everything written down on your phones, laid out for him — it's a little mean. He doesn't need it right now.

Swinging your legs to the side of his bed, you nod. "Not today, yeah. You want me to come hang out with you?"

Joost nods, a little too fast.

You kiss the side of his head, pulling him back into your chest. "You need to tell me when you're upset. Even if you think I'm gonna get mad, or, I don't know — weirded out."

"I love you." You hum into shoulder. You're ghosting the pad of your thumb against his cheekbone. He looks satisfied, curling back into you.

Joost tangles your fingers. You know how this goes.

"I love you too."

Thanks for reading!

[notherpuppet]

how do you manage to draw SO FAST

it seems to me, while i draw one line, in that moment you draw another piece of art, another page of comics, overthrow the government of a country, make contact with aliens, do you even have time to eat and sleep????

i admire your speed of work, and your artwork in general, and envy you in a good way.

Hi!!

So I'm on summer break, that's a big thing hahaha. I have all this free time because I work in education. When school starts in August, I will be attending grad school whilst working two jobs, so my "prolific-ness" is likely gonna take a total dive (very sad).

I guess I'm trying to take advantage of the free time I have as much as I can. Additionally, all I do is draw now. I have no money (I WORK IN EDUCATION) and it's too hot to go to the park lol.

My schedule rn is pretty much draw draw draw, go on a walk, draw draw.

I used to be pretty addicted to cookie run kingdom and tetris, and when I play video games I get superrrrr invested and can't put a game down until I finish it. So every time I've felt like playing a video game, I just think of drawing as a video game and that's what is keeping me so proactive with it tbh.

Also sometimes--when I'm not feeling as energetic about drawing--I just think to myself "just draw slow as hell fuck it" and i draw nice and slow, but for a long and consistent time. So I end up finishing fanart that way too. In those moments, it feels more like meditation or working on a puzzle than playing a video game.

EDIT: just wanna mention that every drawing takes me HOURS AND HOURS. So it's not necessarily a matter of drawing fast as much as it is a matter of having available time to spend.

INSIGHT INTO MY WACKY BRAIN IDK

[insertdisc5]

Any games you're looking forward to playing when you get the chance?

my god i need to finally play El Paso Elsewhere.

speaking of strange scaffold games, i also want to play clickolding so bad. it is just So Weird and Unsettling and i have to know more. btw if youre not following xalavier nelson you absolutely should, absolute indie game deity of a man

i learned about Man I Just Wanna Go Home yesterday and im already planning a game day with some friends so we can play it together. this game looks gorgeous from head to toe

ive heard good things about breathless winds, and the artstyle is solid, so its on my list

crow country looks so good and i cant wait to get some time to play it

lastly, i am not puzzle-smart enough for void stranger, but i think this would appeal to a lot of my audience. check it out

[pitchsidestories]

coming home II Guro Reiten x Reader

masterlist I word count: 1190

summary: Guro and you can't wait to be reunited again after you both were away with your Norwegian and Swedish national team.

a/n: Hi, it's inspired by this request here, we hope you have fun with this little, fluffy oneshot.

“Earth to Guro.”, Caroline Graham Hansen spoke visibly frustrated to her fellow Norwegian teammate who was typing and smiling at her phone, but not taking any notice of the rest of the group which was very unlike her.

It was a beautiful day in their home country and yet Guro wished herself back to the rainy streets of London, where you and her would lay in your shared bed, listening to the noise the raindrops made against the large windows.  

“Huh?”, she glanced puzzled at the Barcelona player.

“We’re here.”, Caroline reminded her.

“Sorry, just texted my..”, the Chelsea forward started to apologize.

Maren who was the most familiar with her and the smile she had on her lips while thinking about you interrupted her softly:” Your girlfriend? You’ll see her soon enough.”

“Ugh.”, the Barcelona footballer groaned.

“Don’t ugh me, Caro.”, Guro laughed.

“You’re so in love, it’s disgusting.”, Caroline shrugged.

“Ignore the black cat, Guro. We’re happy you found each other.”, Ada threw in smiling amused.

“We’re happy.”, the other player repeated scoffing.

“All of us except for Caro.”, Ingrid corrected the prior sentence of the Lyon footballer.

“Thanks, girls. I’m really happy with her.”, Guro beamed.

“We get it.”, Caroline muttered, eager to play.

The game went not in the favour of the Norwegians, they lost and played under their own high expectations. The Chelsea forward was relieved once she was able to get to her hotel room and video call you.

 “Can’t wait to see you again, the match was awful.”, she confessed.

“Not that long anymore, one game to go.”, you tried to cheer her up, you were away with your Swedish national team.

“I know.”, Guro admitted.

“You can do this, captain Guro.”, you assured her. Unfortunately, you weren’t alone in your room, Magdalena and Fridolina were sitting opposite of you, giggling at your motivational speech.

“What’s so funny.”, your girlfriend wanted to know.

“Magda, Frido, shut it., you scolded your teammates, before turning back to her, sorry min älskling.”

“Thanks.”, Guro replied.

“Better, right?”

“Yes, a lot.”, she confirmed. Afterwards you continued to talk about your days.

Way to soon, Magdalena reminded you:” It’s dinner time.”

“Damn it, she’s right.”, you cursed.

“Why are your teammates so horrible.”, your girlfriend questioned grinning.

“They are the worst.”, you agreed jokingly.

“Lies, you love us!”, Fridolina protested.

“Yeah, sometimes.”, you answered truthfully.

“See?”, the Bayern Munich defender gave you a winning smile.

“Bye, Guro, hope the grandmas here fall asleep early, so we can continue talking later.”, you said goodbye to her with a heavy heart.

“I hope so too.”, Guro said.

Of course it was raining when you arrived back in London.

Dragging your suitcase behind you, you opened the door to your shared apartment.

“I’m home!“, you called, knowing that Guro must be somewhere. She had let you know via text that she would arrived a few hours before you.

You kicked off your shoes and left your suitcase in the middle of the floor.

Guros face appeared in the doorway leading to your kitchen: “Finally!“

“God, I missed you.“, you smiled at the sight of your girlfriend and jogged over to her to jump into her arms.

Guro, being a similar height as you, almost lost her balance but regained it in the last moment before you both would have tumbled to the floor.

“Missed you too.“

She kissed your cheek before putting you back down.

You sat down at the kitchen table. Without a word, your girlfriend placed a cup of water and a freshly brewed coffee in front of you.

You marvelled at the thoughtfulness. It was exactly what you needed after a long flight.

As soon as she sat down with you, her own coffee in hand, you asked: “How was camp? Tell me everything.“

“Good, really.“, Guro answered plainly but you could tell from the way her face lit up that it actually had been a good camp for her.

You nodded, satisfied with her answer: “That’s great. What kind of food would you like to order? The usual? The bill is on me.“

Your girlfriend smirked at the quick change of topic: “Someone’s in a good mood.“

“Yeah, we won both of our games.“, you explained laughing.

“I saw that.“

“Did you see my goals too?“, you asked innocently while typing on your phone. The order from your favourite restaurant was quickly placed.

“Of course, I did.“

“Pretty nice, huh?“, you bragged jokingly.

Guro wrinkled her nose, rather unimpressed, and shrugged: “They were okay.“

“Only okay?!“, you repeated, feigning offense.

“Yes, only okay.“

You leaned over, poking your girlfriend in the side repeatedly. You knew how ticklish she was.

“Hey, stop that!“, she protested, trying to protect her torso from you.

“Stop what?“, you played dumb, continuing to annoy her until she burst out laughing.

“This!“

“Oh, that.“

“Stop it!“

You finally backed off, giving her time to catch her breath: “Okay, okay.“

“Thanks.“, she sighed.

The doorbell interrupted you anyway.

“Oh, our dinner is here.“, you announced excitedly and stood up.

Your stomach growled as you took the food inside. The smell of take-away immediately filled the kitchen.

“Finally.“, Guro said, impatiently opening the styrofoam boxes.

You took the first bite and hummed: “Delicious as always.“

“I missed this food so much.”, the Norwegian admitted grinning. The varieties of meals you could order in London would never fail to amaze your girlfriend and yourself.

“Same but more than me?”, you replied in a teasingly tone.

“Yes, of course.”, Guro joked before taking another bite.

“What do you want to do now?”, you changed the topic swiftly.

“Like right now?”, the brunette lifted an eyebrow.

“Yes.”, you nodded enthusiastically. Being back with the person you loved most reenergized you like nothing else did.

“Spend time with you.”, she answered genuinely.

Later you both laid together lazily on your sofa and Guro called your Chelsea captain with a smirk on her face:” Hi Millie.”

“What’s up?”, the blonde responded.

“Y/n and I are busy doing gay things and we might not be at training tomorrow.”, the Scandinavian explained.

“Too much information.”, Millie giggled.

“Just letting you know.”, Guro told her friend innocently.

“I’m not covering for you tomorrow.”, the Defender announced determined.

“Please, you owe me that.”, your girlfriend reminded her sweetly.  

“Fine, but don’t ever call me again.”, Millie groaned dramatically.

“Thanks, see you.”, Guro responded gratefully.

“Bye.”, with these words they hang up.

“Gay things?”, you snorted once she has ended the call and looked into your eyes again.

“Yes, we have all night.”, the midfielder winked at you.

“And tomorrow as well.”, you remembered.

“Yes, I’ve to make up for the time we didn’t see each other.”, Guro proclaimed.

“Come here.”, you said beaming, opening your arms for a hug which she happily accepted.

With closed eyes you whispered into her ear:” You’re home now.”

Both of you knew you felt comfortable everywhere in the world, but home to you wasn’t a place, it was each other. Coming home meant returning to one another and it was one of the best feelings in the world.

[transform4u]

woke up this morning and found my laptop hacked and a new file on the screen that reads americanfratbro.mp3. what does it mean?

It’s late, the kind of night where the only light in your room comes from the harsh glow of your computer screen. You're hunched over your desk, eyes straining to decipher the tangled web of quantum mechanics sprawled before you. The numbers and equations seem to mock you, their complexity a maddening puzzle you can’t quite solve.

Then, without warning, your focus shifts to a file on your screen labeled “americanfratbro.mp3.” Curiosity gets the better of you, and you haphazardly click on it. The instant the file opens, your screen is overtaken by a barrage of images: frothy beers, a frenetic football game, and the American flag waving triumphantly. Words flash by, dancing across the screen: “Bro Time!” “Victory!” “Let’s Go!”

Your frustration boils over. “Damn it!” you hiss, trying to keep your voice down so you don’t wake your roommate. You fumble with the laptop, attempting to close it, but in your panic, you knock over a can of beer that seemingly appeared out of nowhere. “FuuuuuUUUcCCk!” you exclaim, your voice now a deep rumble that echoes through the room. You realize too late that you’ve probably woken your roommate.

As the beer spills, it drips down your clothes, and wherever the beer touches, your skin darkens to a rich tan. You’re momentarily entranced by the sight. The smell of the beer grows stronger, and it’s intoxicatingly sweet. Without a second thought, you grab the can and take a swig.

The cold liquid hits your tongue, and as you drink, your mind starts to unravel. The facts and figures you’ve spent so long trying to master begin to dissolve, slipping away from your consciousness. Friendships, math classes, and even your love for literature—everything is erased in the face of this new sensation. Your head throbs with each heartbeat, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

Your laptop is still open, and the voice from the screen now blares with a gruff authority: “No mercy, no excuses!” “Show up and dominate!” The words resonate through your foggy mind, pushing you further into a trance. You’re slack-jawed and disoriented, your brain struggling to keep up with the overwhelming shift. Your world narrows down to the pulsating rhythm of the voice and the beer’s lingering flavor, erasing everything that once mattered to you.

As you sit there, reeling from the spilled beer and its bewildering effects, your laptop screen erupts into a sensory overload of indulgence. The screen blares at you with relentless enthusiasm, showcasing phrases like “Bro, it’s all about living life to the fullest!” and “You only live once—so why not go big or go home?” The words are punctuated by relentless reminders to “Flex on ‘em, dude!” and “Crush it, bro! Winners never quit!” The once-muted tones of your academic pursuits are drowned out by this cacophony of superficial triumph.

Images flash before your eyes with a dazzling, almost hypnotic rhythm: a group of impossibly buff men in bright pastel polos, their muscles bulging as they flex in front of a luxury yacht; a gleaming white Tesla parked in a driveway that could rival a country club's manicured perfection; a raucous pool party where designer swim trunks, oversized sunglasses, and bottles of high-end champagne are de rigueur; and a pristine country club, where elegantly dressed individuals sip cocktails with the grace of the effortlessly affluent.

Each phrase and image seems to wrap around you, enveloping you in a new persona. You feel the shift in your mindset as you’re bathed in a wave of entitlement and self-assuredness. You begin to imagine yourself in the latest designer polo shirt, your teeth dazzlingly white and a smirk permanently plastered on your face. The world of academic diligence fades into the background, eclipsed by the blaring confidence and superficiality of a life steeped in privilege.

Thoughts begin to twist and turn in your newly altered mindset. “Why bother with all this intellectual stuff?” you think. “Life’s about having fun and showing off!” A surge of superiority pulses through you, and you imagine yourself as the undeniable center of attention in every room you enter. Conversations that once revolved around ideas and learning now revolve around the latest trends, gym routines, and anecdotes of your superior lifestyle. Your world narrows to a self-important lens where your opinions are the only ones that matter, and everyone else becomes mere background noise.

Empathy and humility are replaced by a sharp, unshakable belief in your own superiority. Your wardrobe now resembles a shrine to preppy excess—khaki shorts that could double as sailboat uniforms, ostentatious polo shirts, and boat shoes polished to perfection. You navigate life with a blend of casual arrogance and an insatiable need for validation. In conversations, you dismiss any differing opinions with a wave of your hand, certain that your views, shaped by fleeting trends and superficial judgments, are the only ones worth considering. The concept of understanding others or stepping outside your own privilege is foreign to you; instead, you revel in adulation and assertiveness, basking in the relentless glow of your self-importance.

As you gaze into the computer screen, the reflection staring back at you is a stark contrast to the image you crave. The figure that meets your eyes is weak, pallid, and painfully ordinary—a far cry from the confident, muscular ideal you once envisioned. The sight of yourself, so far removed from the idealized version, ignites a surge of frustration. In a fit of rage, you crush the beer can against your forehead. The impact sends a jolt through your body, like an electric shock coursing through your veins. The pain is sharp, almost liberating, as if it’s tearing down the last remnants of the persona you never truly embodied.

Slowly, your physique begins to morph, each muscle gradually reshaping itself into a meticulously crafted shrine to vanity and privilege. As you watch, your body transforms into a physical testament to a life lived in the gym, not the real world. Your abs become chiseled to an absurd degree, sculpted through endless crunches and protein shakes. They’re so pronounced they almost seem to sneer at those who haven’t shared your genetic fortune or gym membership. The six-pack, impossibly defined, stands as a monument to superficial dedication rather than genuine commitment.

Your biceps swell with impressive size, though they’re less a sign of true strength and more a product of relentless curls and flexing. The veins bulge beneath your skin, perpetually in a state of flexing, as if they were designed to showcase your hard work rather than any real substance.

Yet, beneath this glossy exterior lies a troubling reality. You smell of stale sweat and cheap cologne, a potent blend that hints at rigorous workouts paired with an equally rigorous disregard for personal hygiene. The scent clings to you like an unwelcome guest, blending with the overpowering aroma of your latest designer fragrance—an ill-advised attempt to mask the musk of neglect.

Your clothes, while always styled to perfection, are a gaudy celebration of preppy excess. Your polo shirts, in blindingly bright colors or adorned with ostentatious logos, cling to your physique like a second skin, revealing every bulging muscle and uneven tan line. Your khaki shorts are tailored just short enough to flaunt your tanned, muscular legs, and they’re paired with boat shoes polished to a high gloss, though they rarely see a boat's deck.

The entire ensemble is designed not just to impress but to scream your superior status. Your wardrobe—Ralph Lauren polos, Vineyard Vines shorts—is as much a statement as it is a testament to preppy fashion standards. Each stitch and seam shouts privilege and entitlement, reflecting a carefully curated image of superiority.

As you glance at your phone, the message from an unknown number lights up the screen: “Sup bro? Party at Delta Nu—they’ve got the hottest chicks.” Your pulse quickens with excitement.

Suddenly, you feel an overwhelming sense of confusion wash over you. You weren't into chicks. You were stricly dickly, men's bodies were---uhhh-hahahaha---BURRRRP--- You can't believe what just happened - did you really just think that? Chicks were fucking hot! It's not like you didn't know it before, but something in your mind had convinced itself otherwise.

With a dumb laugh escaping your lips, the realization hits you hard: You aren't gay. And that makes everything so much simpler and clearer now. But wait… why did you even think that? Why did this weird thought even cross your mind? As these questions swirl around in your head, a sense of dumbness begins to creep up on you - like someone is slowly turning down the lights on all the intelligence stored inside of yours.

Striding across campus, your swagger is undeniable. You move with a sense of purpose, each step radiating confidence and a newfound arrogance. The usual scenery of academic buildings and quiet green spaces gives way to the pulsing beat of fraternity life.

With each step, a series of memories begins to unfurl in your mind, vivid and intoxicating. You recall a particular evening from your past—the memory is sharp and clear: a grand party at the Omega Theta house, a night where the air was thick with arrogance and entitlement. The dimly lit room was drenched in the erratic glow of strobe lights, casting unpredictable shadows on the walls. The relentless barrage of music was a mix of the latest hits and classic party anthems.

You were the center of it all, confidently navigating the crowd with a drink in hand and a smug smile on your face. The crowd parted as you approached, eager to bask in the light of your self-proclaimed superiority. You recall holding court near the keg, regaling your bros with tales of your latest conquests and extravagant purchases. Dressed in an outrageously bright polo shirt, its ostentatious logo a symbol of your high status, the shirt clung to your perfectly sculpted physique, each muscle on display as you gesticulated grandly with your free hand, the other wrapped around a red solo cup filled with cheap beer.

As you approach the Delta Nu house, your demeanor grows more self-assured, and a trace of condescension colors your interactions. You brush past students with a dismissive nod, their pleasantries falling on deaf ears.

The Delta Nu house looms ahead, a beacon of neon lights and boisterous noise. You push through the front door, immediately engulfed in a sea of loud music and the throbbing bass of a party in full swing. The room is packed with people, their voices blending into a cacophony of laughter and chatter. The air is thick with the mingling scents of cheap beer and heavy cologne.

Your gaze sweeps the room, taking in the scene with a mix of superiority and disdain. A group of your bros are huddled near the keg, their conversations punctuated with exaggerated gestures and loud laughs. “Bro, you made it!” one of them shouts, slapping you on the back with a force that nearly knocks you off balance. You respond with a broad smile and a dismissive wave, clearly the center of attention in this crowd.

The party is a parade of excess—red solo cups littered everywhere, music blasting from massive speakers, and people dancing in a manner that suggests they’ve completely let go of any pretense. Your attitude shifts from aloof to downright rude, as you elbow your way through the crowd, cutting in front of people without a second thought.

Your eyes settle on a chick across the room, her presence standing out amidst the chaos. She’s dressed in a sleek, figure-hugging outfit that exudes effortless style. You can’t help but feel a sense of entitlement as you approach her. “Hey, what’s up?” you say, your tone dripping with casual arrogance. “You enjoying the party or what?”

She looks up, slightly taken aback by your brashness, but you’re already too wrapped up in your own self-importance to notice. Your conversation, if it can be called that, is filled with vacuous comments and self-aggrandizing remarks. “Yeah, I know. I’m like, totally the man around here. Just came to have some fun, you know?”

As the night progresses, you continue to revel in the party, your demeanor growing increasingly entitled and superficial. Every interaction, every glance, is laced with a sense of superiority. You’re not just at the party; you’re the life of it, an embodiment of the frat-bro stereotype. The world beyond this raucous, beer-soaked haven seems distant and irrelevant, replaced by a relentless pursuit of immediate gratification and validation. You and your bros are at it again, playing beer pong with reckless abandon. The room is filled with the sound of laughter, cheers, and clinking glasses as you take shot after shot. You're acting like the entitled tool that you are - farting loudly whenever you feel like it, burping without a care in the world, and pulling off all sorts of pranks on unsuspecting victims.

The smell of beer lingers around you like a second skin; it's almost as if someone has doused you in it from head to toe. And even though this morning started out bright and early with a hangover that could rival any heavyweight champion's, here we are again - drunk off our asses and loving every minute of it! Your friends high-five each other when they see how far their little prank went tonight; meanwhile, everyone else at the party just shakes their heads in disbelief at how much fun (or trouble) one group can cause.

Your eyes lock onto her as she walks into the room, and you can't help but let out a low whistle. She's hot - really fucking hot! Her body is on full display in that tight little dress she's wearing, showing off every curve and line to perfection.

You approach her confidently, mansplaining something about beer pong or sports or whatever comes to mind first. She listens politely at first before rolling her eyes at your obnoxiousness. But hey, that just makes you want her more! You grab her ass without hesitation and pull her close for a passionate kiss - one that leaves no doubt about who's in charge here tonight.

You're flirting with her like there's no tomorrow, your drunken confidence reaching new heights. You flex your muscles for her, showing off how strong and manly you are. Then, you pull out your phone and start scrolling through pictures of yourself - posing in front of expensive cars or holding up wads of cash like it's nothing.

"Look at this," you slur as you hand her the phone. "I got money coming outta my ass! And I know how to treat a woman right." She laughs at first but then seems to soften when she sees the genuine desire in your eyes. "I want you so bad," you say without hesitation, grabbing her hand and leading her towards one of the bedrooms.

You push her onto the couch and start fucking her without any pretense of gentleness. She moans your name as you thrust into her, "Sebastian, you big fucking idiot" in between breathless gasps.

Your bros are all watching from outside the door, laughing their asses off at this dumb slut you're banging. Life as a dumbass American frat bro couldn't get any better than this! You tear off what remains of her clothes, eager to feel every inch of skin against yours. She screams out your name again - "Oh Seb!" - as she climaxes around you.

[amirasainz]

can you do a pierre x amira x kika

where it follows euros 2024 with portugal vs france and it’s like amira is stuck in the middle of them

I'm baaack! So I knoow that the Euro Cup is over, but I just started on writing some requests. There will be mentions of the Austian football team as well, but I just chose them randomly. My home team, thankfully, won the Euro Cup, YAY!

Enjoy reading and spam me with requests. :)

-XoXo

No Part 2!

Sitting in the middle

Amira never imagined she would visit Germany. It wasn’t that she had anything against the country; it simply hadn’t been one of her dream destinations. Yet here she sat, in the VIP area of a German football stadium, waiting for the game. For some, this match might not be the most exciting one during the Euro Cup.

But for Amira, it meant much more than just a game. Her companions, Pierre and Kika, supported different teams—each fiercely loyal to their home countries. When they learned that their teams would face off against each other, tensions escalated. Seeking a neutral presence during the game, they convinced Amira to join them in Germany after a day of cuddling and kissing, like friends just do.

And so, there she was. Pierre, decked out in team merchandise, sat on her right, while Kika proudly wore the famous number 7 on her back, Portuguese flags painted on her cheeks. And Amira, who decided to dress in normal clothes but had bracelets from each of the teams on her wrist, sat in the middle of them. The trio attracted curious glances from fellow spectators.

Initially, everything went smoothly. Respectful banter filled the air. But after the first half, things changed. “Of course, the Portuguese players have to collapse on the field, pretending they’ve suffered a catastrophic injury—even when no one touched them,” Pierre grumbled. Kika shot him a dagger-filled look. “Excuse me?” she retorted. Pierre’s sarcastic response— “You are excused”—didn’t help matters.

Amira, engrossed in chocolate-covered cherries, paid little attention to the escalating tension between her friends. As the second half began, emotions boiled over. “Pierre, you can’t be serious. EVERYBODY knows Portugal is better than France in football. We have players like Ronaldo, Pepe, Dias, Félix, Ne-”“Oh, come on! Ronaldo is the only player everyone knows from your team, and he isn’t even that good,” Kika interrupted. “What about M’Bappé?” she added.

Before the argument could escalate further, Amira innocently interjected: “I like the Austrian team.” Both Kika and Pierre stared at her, equally surprised. “They play like a real team—a close-knit family. Their joy on the field is contagious, and the fans are incredible,” Amira explained. Her friends exchanged puzzled glances but quickly agreed, because the didn't want to upset their babygirl. “Yes, you’re right, cherié,” Pierre conceded. “Austria won the toughest group in the Euro Cup.” Kika nodded in agreement. “Their players seem genuinely nice, and their fans show respect. Unlike those Turkish fans—disgusting behavior.”

Amira beamed at her friends. “Cherry, anyone?” she asked, lifting her fork.

[homunculus-argument]

All art is derivative - you don't come up with a good story by sitting down and deciding to write the most unique story that has not been influenced by anything else you've ever read or heard. A good story is a patchwork - a collage, a quilt - of different elements you picked up from somewhere, that happened to nicely click together like pieces of a puzzle.

Today I told my boyfriend of something I saw online - a tiktok of some midwestern gothic country musician whose name I unfortunately don't remember, who explained some Spooky Midwest Phenomenon: the infamous "hey". It's when you're alone in the woods, and hear a distinctly human but not quite human voice from somewhere, clearly saying hey, clearly addressing you. And people have sworn on their life that they've heard it, this disembodied voice saying hey. And that's spooky as hell.

But this guy had a theory - one that he was very confident on: It's crows. Crows are highly intelligent, are great vocal mimics the same way that parrots are, and they've got a wicked sense of humour. It's actually really likely that the local crows have learned to mimic a human voice saying "hey", and they're now doing that on purpose in order to fuck with people. Which is 100% something that crows would do for fun.

My boyfriend remarked that the crows have learned to do the same thing to humans as humans do with those deer call flutes - imitating their vocalisations on purpose. And that connected my mind somewhere else. Those deer call things are used for hunting, you're not just trying to mess with deers' heads for fun, you're trying to lure them somewhere. And remember that other story about crows that form bonds with local wolf packs, spotting large game from the air and guiding the wolves to the right direction, in order to be the first birds at the carcass?

What if instead of just finding the prey, they could lure the game into a good point of ambush?