#and if lots of content used to be provided then i guess you'd expect that treatment again?

[barleyo]

Rural Bliss.

Real Dad! Leon X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: You, as a reader, are responsible for your own media consumption. It is up to you to read the tags that I have provided and determine whether or not this is a piece of writing that you would like to partake in. If not, scroll on by, if you do, please enjoy! Remember, I am not responsible for any discomfort you feel if you choose to read this.

Tags: incest (daddy-daughter), dub-con, oral (f receiving), LARGE AGE GAP (18 and 40+), pwp (light plot), mentions of predatory behavior, mutual creepiness, dark and disturbing content, choppy ass writing

Wordcount: 1.8k

!!! DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT/DARK CONTENT !!!

Your mom had finally done it. She found a halfway decent guy and let him wife her up faster than you could say 'I do.' You weren't exactly mad about it. He was a decent enough guy, and he made your mom happy, so whatever. The only part that you were against was the fact that you would be staying with your estranged father for the rest of your summer until your mom and her boy-toy got back from their extensive honeymoon.

Your dad fucked off pretty quickly after you were born. Moved himself far away into the middle of nowhere, not once reaching out or keeping in touch. A small part of you wanted to know him, but a larger part of you was pissed that you would have to now temporarily live with a man who you could just barely remember the name of. 

What was it again? Leonard? Lucas? No, no, that's not right. Leon? Yeah, something like that. Leon. 

Leon, the man who left you and your mom. The man who, instead of raising you, decided to lick his wounds in the deep country, likely making a meager living off of growing potatoes and carrots. The man who was a stranger, connected to you only by blood. 

The man whose front porch you were currently standing on, banging on his door without a care in the world. You looked around while you knocked. It was a large bit of land. A few neighbors nearby, but not within spitting distance. At the very least, this town had a few stores with maybe a few people your age lingering around them. 

"I'm coming, damn it!" His steps were loud, you could hear them from all the way outside. The heaviness of his work boots must've weighed him down quite a bit. The screen door flew open and his face softened. "Oh, hey kid. Didn't know you'd be here so early. Come in." 

You followed him inside, letting your eyes trail his face and frame. You'd only seen a picture or two of him before. He wasn't quite what you were expecting. He looked a lot older now than he did in the photos. More tired, less lively. His crow's feet and smile lines stuck out, but if the lonely, uncomfortable vibe of his house was any clue, you assumed he hadn't been smiling much in his life. 

He wasn't bad looking, though. Time hasn't weathered him, and you could tell he took care of himself. His arms and chest looked strong, clearly he had found some way to stay fit out in his desolate chunk of farmer-country. You could see why your mom picked him. He looked like a good one, despite his fleeting nature. 

"You're gonna be stayin' for a few months, yeah?" Leon didn't seem uncomfortable with your presence, so you felt a bit more calm.

"Yeah, I guess so. Mom didn't really give me all the details, just kinda sprung it on me."

"Believe me, I know," he said under his breath. "Well, this place isn't much, 'm sure it's not what you're used to." He locked the door behind you and flashed an apologetic look. 

"It's fine. I'll make it work." You looked around. It looked lived in, strangely worn despite nobody else ever living there.

He led you down a dimly lit hallway, the floorboards groaning beneath their weight, until they reached a single room. It was a small bedroom, adorned with faded wallpaper and completely wooden furniture. The single window offered a glimpse of the bare, green landscape outside. 

"This'll be your room. You can unpack your things."

Hardly a week passed by and you were already sick to death of living with your dad. His jokes were bad. His cooking was shit. His attempts at bonding with you were creepy at best and damn near-assault at worst. He let his hands drift all over you when he pulled you in for hugs and tried pecking a kiss on your mouth before you went off to bed each night, and damn it, you let him.

Again and again, every night, letting that old man press his chapped lips against yours, holding back your urge to force your tongue into his mouth.

He bought you gifts that no other fathers would think about getting their daughters. Skimpy little clothes that left nothing to the imagination, while he wrote it off by claiming ignorance.

"That's what girls your age wear, right? I can't keep up with what you kids are into," Leon would say, covering his ass with feigned dopiness. 

His only redeeming quality was that he was hot and mostly oblivious. It was fucked up to think about it that way, but without having much other male contact during your stay, Leon was starting to becoming quite the piece of eye candy. The best part is that he thought nothing of it, acting like his teenaged daughter spending hours staring at his half-naked, sweaty body while he worked in the hot sun was normal. Just another day. Nothing special. 

He didn't make you work on the farm with him, so you got to do all the watching. You got to see those strong arms lift hay bales for the horses and chop trees for firewood. Most of your days were spent watching him from the front porch, mentally cursing yourself out when you felt your thighs clench together instinctually at his sexy movements. 

What was wrong with you? 

Were years of fatherlessness finally catching up to you? Couldn't muster any real love for the old man, so sexual yearning was the next best thing? Eye-fucking your dad and sharing touches that lasted too long were the cost of him skipping out on you.

You rationalized it the best you could. Maybe you didn't actually want him, maybe the solitude of the countryside was getting to you. Maybe there was something in the air, some kind of sex-pollen floating in the breeze that made you wanna get bent over by a man twice your age that just so happened to be related to you. Closely related.

Leon didn't really know how to treat a woman well, but he tried his best with you. It was his first time really being a dad, but honestly, he hated it. Being a 'dad' sucked, especially when he'd rather have his daughter as his girlfriend. 

You made him so frustrated, so unsure of himself. Leon's only experience with girl's your age was in getting them liquor they couldn't legally buy themselves, fucking them like plastic sex dolls, and leaving them for someone else to woo and screw. 

He couldn't quite do that to you, though. He couldn't get you drunk and take advantage of you, pumping and dumping in you without a care about your pleasure. He had to take care of you, your health and comfort. All he really wanted was to take care of your body.

You were his little girl. He'd fuck you like he actually gave a damn about you if he ever got the chance, and he most definitely wouldn't be leaving you for anyone else.

That type of thinking brought him here. 

"Daddy, please..."

The walls in his house were too damn thin. He could practically hear each thrust of your fingers into your cunt from his bedroom. Your bed screeched agonizingly against the floors, punctuating your moans and hisses of pleasure. 

He saw his opportunity and took it. He had waited long enough, and this was the least he could do, right? You needed him, right? Right.

He pushed your door open, not having the decency nor the self-restraint to knock. You felt your body go still, but kept your hands between your legs. 

"If you needed me, coulda told me. Don't like t'hear you in here whining." Leon sat on the edge of your bed, crawling his way between your legs. "Fuck, that's pretty." 

He took in the sight of your fingers stuffed into your pudgy cunt, slick dripping between each digit. 

"No, you're—! this isn't what it—" you tried prying your fingers out, but a strong hand wrapped around your wrist to keep you in place.

"Isn't what it looks like? How about what it sounds like, huh? Sounds like you want your daddy to dull that ache in you." 

He was so far gone. He normally never did this. Leon was a man who took. He took younger girls virginity, mouth, pussy, or other. He was the one that got sucked off and got his perv dick wet. But for his baby? You, the little nymph who fell gracefully into his grasp? He was foaming at the mouth for a chance to slurp your pussy.

"Open up, come on. Got nothin' to be shy about," he urged, forcing your legs open, pulling your fingers out, and shimmying closer to you. "Nothin' I haven't seen before."

That was somewhat of a lie. Sure, he saw pussies all the time when he bullied his cock into them, but he was normally never nose to clit, ready to lick.

He stuck his needy tongue out, lapping up the juices that you worked up when you rubbed yourself raw. He swirled around you clit as a test, trying to see what felt good for you. He soon settled on puckering his lips around your bud and sucking, swapping his spit in and out of his mouth to keep you lubed up. 

Your voice broke with hushed whines and chants. Yes's and oh's rang out, filling Leon's ears and his ego. 

He pulled his head back and lob a wad of spit onto your clit, chuckling when you shivered. 

"Feel good?" His thumb traced your clit in little figure eights. 

"Mm, s'good." Your hands trailed through his thick, soft hair. You gripped it tightly, pulling his head back to your cunt. "No, don't stop, jus' need your mouth again."

His sharp, strong nose bumped against the top of your pussy while he munched down on you greedily. His tongue traveled around you in an indecisive manner. One moment, he was using flat strokes to lick on your swollen nub, then pointing his tongue while he fucked it in and out of you. 

Despite the sporadic nature of it, the warmth and wetness of the contact of his mouth on you felt like heaven. It didn't matter what he was doing, as long as he was looking up at you with his piercing eyes and swallowing down your slick, you were satisfied.

"Dad, oh my God, yes!" It felt like venom coming off of your tongue when you moaned it, but tasted like honey at the same time. Something about it was so wrong, but felt so natural.

As your legs tightened around Leon's head and trapped him between your thighs, you knew it was meant to be. You were meant to be your daddy's princess. You were meant to feel like mouth on you, to be spoiled by his tongue, words, money, and his cock. You had been missing out on it for so long. 

You spent the rest of your summer making up for lost time, discovering just what having a daddy was meant to feel like.

[bg3fan]

The devil you don't know

Part 6

Part 7 (fin)

After a while, Raphael tears stopped and his body turned human again, while being in his arms.

"No, why would you turn back?" You ask with a disappointed voice and even though you can't see his face, you can feel his growing smirk.

"What? You aren't afraid, my dear?" He nudges your side in a jokingly matter, still trying to mask his vulnerable side from you.

You immediately assure him that you'd never be afraid of him because he proved to you over and over again that he'd never hurt you no matter what.

"Is it OK if I touch you?" You suddenly feel very shy and anxious about the whole situation. It takes you back, where you two would explore each other's body for the first time.

"As you wish, my love," you break out of his arms to see how his body transforms again, and even though you try to look closely, you can't tell how his body does the transformation.

You take a minute to just admire his red leather skin and his horns that look like a majestic crown.

Slowly, you reach out with your hands to touch his wings, but you halt before doing so, afraid of making him uncomfortable.

But instead of answering, Raphael lays down beside you on his belly and moves his wing against ur hand, which makes you let out a gasp at the feeling.

You're amazed at how smooth and soft yet firm it feels against your fingers, you try to be as gentle as possible and be aware of every bad reaction he might have but it seems like the red devil enjoys it as he lets out a small sigh of contentment.

"I love these so much," you confess, hoping to make him happy, since you know how much Raphael loves compliments, "I wish I had wings so I could fly wherever I want."

Raphael shifts to his side and chuckles at you "but guess what little mouse, I don't even need to use them, since teleportation is much faster"

You give him a little pout, "that's so unfair, how do you get to have wings and the ability to teleport yourself?" You pinch his sides as you're growing more and more jealous of him.

Suddenly, your eyes catch the sight of his tail, and you want to touch it so bad. But you know from old tiefling friends that the tails are the most sensitive body parts, so for now, you decide to restrain yourself from touching or grabbing it.

With a sighs you lay down on your back next to Raphael while his wing is over you like a blanket. His warmth brings you so much comfort that you could take a nap like this.

"Well, since you're my little mouse, I might provide you with some potions which may allow you to teleport." He kisses the side of your face while he pulls you closer to his side.

You only hum in response as you both find comfort in the silence of embracing each other after a long break of being away.

After some time, you nudge your head against his, carefully not to hurt yourself on his horns. "What will happen now?" You whisper lowly as to not disturb the peace of the quiet.

But it seems like Raphael has enough of the comfortable silence as sits up and pulls you on his lap, "Now you can expect the wealthy and luxurious life as my wife by my side."

You can't help and giggle at him calling you 'his wife', which fills you with excitement and joy.

He kisses your forehead before you are wrapped in hellfire, "Welcome to your new home, the house of hope!" A mischievous and excited grin is on his face as he carries you inside his house.

I fear this chapter turned out to be a bit short but I had a lot of fun writing this even though the end kind of took forever for me to write 💕

Thanks for everybody who wrote comments which kept encouraging me to write this 💕💕💕 (I'm especially looking at @fiendish-appreciation and @schreibsuchtis ❤️❤️) my hyperfixion on bg3 might kick back again when I play the game with some friends but they all moved on from playing it unfortunately:(

[heartratehibernate]

Sup, I guess I'm supposed to do some sorta post to pin or whatever? I'm a Jeff the Killer fictive and this blog is for whatever the fuck I want. Why? I dunno, I felt like it. My pronouns are he/him, I use xe/xim too. I'm transmasc. Don't have my sexuality figured out.

Self portrait for attention. Eat up bitches. /lh

Disclaimer: Might end up writing a lot of personal shit. Shit might get dark. Just kinda how it is. It's gonna be pretty unfiltered here. I'll try provide trigger and content warnings but I probably won't be any good at it. Feel free to correct me if I miss anything. I'll probably skip blood as a warning though.

Collectively we've never used tumblr before so I might suck at it.

Some extra shit.

We're an OSDD-1B system and I'm a fictive. Don't treat me like I'm playing a character or some RP blog. No shade on them, but I'm not one. Asks and shit are cool though.

My written tone's kinda weird. Might throw in some tone indicators here and there.

Don't tolerate hate on systems, plurals, multiples, whatever else. Take that shit somewhere else.

I'll refer to my other headmates by emojis instead of names to keep some sense of privacy. Their request.

I'm one headmate out of a whole system. Can't promise I'll be around a shit ton, so don't expect frequency.

Probably won't post my art often, but if you dig, I'm not against people using it, sharing it, whatever you wanna do. Just don't claim it as your own. Tracing and referencing's cool if you really wanna practice with my art. Dunno why you'd wanna, but sure. The system says credit me if you trace or repost, but other than that we collectively don't really give a shit what you do with it. Go nuts if you wanna. Pretty cool for criticism, just don't be a dick.

Really dunno what else to add. Pretty sure this covers everything. This is way too much text for me to have written. Shit's got me exhausted.

Here's a special treat for whoever the fuck read all this bullshit. My system almost bullied me into naming this blog "comeonjeffgetem" or some shit as a reference to that one Bo Burnham song. Almost kinda sad I didn't.

Enjoy the blog, losers. /lh

Last thing before I go. Original's cool, but I really dig this cover of it.

[casspurrjoybell-29]

Forging Ties - Chapter 24 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Hamish and Duran had tossed the blanket and their clothes into the basket and then walked naked down to the beach.

Duran had already brushed the cum off himself using his magic but Hamish was happy to wade in and let the salty water rinse everything away.

"I used to go skinny dipping in the lake with my friends when I was younger," Hamish said as he sat down in the shallows and let the gentle in and out of the small waves wash over him.

"That was how I figured out I was attracted to men. I had to keep quiet about it back then, of course."

Duran sat down next to him and dug his feet into the wet sand under the water.

"I was told I would probably be sold to a man and that seemed more appealing than being sold to a woman, so I suppose that was the moment for me. Not that our own sexual preferences were ever a consideration, of course."

"That's all kinds of fucked up."

"Hopefully the whole slavery thing will be over and done with soon enough. If I'm honest, though, the thought of it exhausts me a bit. Just... the scale of the issue and how many people will need help. And who could actually provide it? Who would know how to help those people? Certainly not me and I'm probably more qualified than most."

"Sometimes it's just not possible to fix everything. We can take someone away from a bad situation and we can make it so no one else ends up there in the future but we can't make all the hurt go away. Everything we experience shapes who we become. You can't erase the past."

"Maybe that's okay," Duran said as he scooped sand up in his hand under the water and let it slip down between his fingers to pile onto Hamish's leg until a wave washed it away.

"I used to think that my life was just ruined. That I was ruined. That even if my life instantly became perfect in every way, it wouldn't matter because it was too late for me."

"And now?"

"Now I don't think it's that black and white. I can have trauma and still be a person who has value, who has the ability to love and be loved. Someone who can find joy in life despite the depths of the sorrow he's felt. I'm damaged but I'm not completely broken."

"Maybe this trip has been more than just a holiday. The world I've seen while we were out here is one with a lot of room for different kinds of people. Maybe it's time for mages to take their place among everyone else."

"That human dick, though," Duran said, flicking a glance to Hamish's where it bobbed around, flaccid, moved by the motion of the water.

"And vagina, I guess, for those who prefer it."

"Well, we've met humans out here as well. I've noticed that on this side of the mountains, nobody cares nearly as much that I'm human. The more I see of the world, the more I realise just how little of it I have seen."

Duran leant his head back and shut his eyes as he basked in the sunshine.

"I suppose my worrying about it won't help anything, anyway. I'll do what I can and I doubt anyone will expect more of me. That's the beauty and burden of being a Companion. Sex is the only thing we're expected to be good at and out here nobody cares about that."

"Hey, that's not true," Hamish said.

"I care about that."

Duran dropped his head back down and shot Hamish a smile.

"Thanks. I see that you're starting to understand me."

"You don't need me to tell you that you have value beyond that. You already know it. You're just annoyed that it's all other people see when they look at you."

"Exactly. I still haven't quite worked out how to deal with groups of people I don't know very well."

"Do you want my opinion?"

"Yes but I will judge it."

Hamish grinned.

"Of course. Personally, I think that confidence is key. It took me a while to really get to know you but it only took one look up at the top of The Spire to know you were someone to be taken seriously. You were fed up, you'd stopped caring what I thought and you gave me a taste of your fire. You can present yourself in any way you choose and you know it. However you want to be perceived, however you want to be treated... just make it happen."

Duran stretched his legs out.

"Ah, you make it sound so easy. But yes, you're also right. Maybe I need to stop worrying about everyone else and what they think and focus on me. After all, the people we're around now have few preconceived notions about Companions and I'm still being cautious."

"And that's fine. You don't have to be bold. I just don't want you to forget that you can be, if that's what you want."

"I suppose I just feel more confident in hooking a man by his libido than in other kinds of social negotiations, though maybe that's mostly in my head. Thank you. I'll think on this."

"Sure. Any time."

[decepti-geek]

maybe the most surefire way to not be an arse about shipping is to have your first-ever serious OTP be a rarepair 

[jjkpls]

the wishlist (m) - 4

“What does it mean if a guy talks about your nipples?”

> genre : smut, fluff

> pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

> total words : 4.7k

> content/warnings : back at it again w/ the bff2l; one sided love, lot of pining; sextoys talk; explicit language; ambiguous infidelity ; awkwardness

previous - next

The issue is that Jungkook -and you're not a bitch for thinking that- is a little bit of an idiot.

He can be very smart. He can be wise and present unsuspecting resources and knowledge. He can teach you things you don't know anything about, figure out others you struggle to -but not during stressful times like for say an escape game because during those, he turns absolutely, utterly useless. 

But he is an idiot too. An idiot that sometimes shapes situations and conclusions and ideas in a very peculiar way that is very singular to him.

That’s precisely what happens then. He plays his role right, to its full extent, with great dedication and commitment. Except he missed a memo, misread the script and ends up playing a role that's not the one you planned for him. He believes that he’s your new adult toy provider (as if there is such a thing).

When you think he’s coming over to share a meal or play some game or binge-watch a series you promised to wait for him to experience together, he has a box hidden in his pocket or carried under his arm. 

He has the decency to not comment on it the first time around. He just set it down on the coffee table, between the bowl of chips and the one filled with guacamole. You see the logo on top of it. You recognize the design, reffined, minimalist with the pretty pastel matte colour. 

He probably identifies the shame and the annoyance on your face, painting your cheeks and reshaping your eyebrows, and doesn’t say anything. Simply smiles to himself and starts talking about the series’ new episode that’s about to start. 

It takes a lot of efforts, coming from you, to ignore the conspicuous object sitting just in front and in between you. But eventually, probably because more than a decade of friendship with this guy have grown impressive mind muscles on you, you manage to make abstraction of it. 

It just stops existing for a while until he leaves and you’re curious to see what’s inside. And again you have the same old intentions as before. The same ones.

You won’t use it. 

It’s curiosity. And it's fine for you to be curious because he’s the one buying it and gifting it to you. Why should you be blamed?

Freshly hopped in bed, just done reading the notice hanging over your face, you’re yawning and sending your eyebrows high in interest. Again you won’t use it but it sounds very interesting. That’s when you get a text from him.

Guk

So about the toy!

As if you were waiting for his explanation. As if the conversation got cut short and you were expecting him to pick it back up whenever possible.

You won’t entertain him.

You

I said not to buy me this.

Guk

You never said that! You said something about me being crazy but never about buying one again

Because you're mostly made of petty bitch material, you scroll higher quickly, wishing to find something, any text that would corroborate what you’re saying.

You don’t find anything though. Because you never actually told him to not buy you other toys by text, and now that you come to think of it, you probably never did out loud either because you didn’t fucking know that he would even consider doing so.

It’s not even Christmas anymore. It’s not your birthday. There’s even less of a valid reason for him to get you this therefore, of course, you did not explicitly warn him not to, you didn’t think it would be necessary.

You

It’s not even my fucking bday why???

Guk

I told you the lady at the shop

But who the hell is that lady?

Guk

She talked about a lot of products and they all seemed cool and because you liked the other one I thought I’d get you this one too

You

Jungkook

This simple response says a lot, you hope he can read between the pixels of his screen the desperation, the irritation, the frustration, the silent insults. 

Guk

Listen it’s super cool it's supposed to mimic the touch of a finger

Jungkook then proceeds to explain to you how it works. The original idea being a system with a tiny ball rolling under a silicon skin, to place on your clitoris to have the illusion of a finger's touch. And it’s interesting and innovative surely and sounds intriguing as in, you wonder if it’s accurate, but you’re tired and it seems like you’re wading in some sort of swamp you can’t escape from. There’s a fire burning your skin from your cheeks to your chest. You’re both hating this conversation and unwilling to just draw a final period to it. This asshole.

You

I can read

Guk

So you opened it already??

There’s a bunch of excited emojis that follows his last message and fill up the empty space your lack of response leaves. 

Why and how can he be so eager?

Here comes the delusional part of your brain. It’s a very wide, very deep hallway covered in bookshelves filled to the brim with stupid interpretations and beliefs and sometimes even memories you’ve shared with him. Often next to the laters are pinned an article from a teenage magazine or the jacket of a romance movie, specifically there to validate that yes, indeed, it must have meant something. 

The door of that corridor just creaked opened. You can discern the sound, you can feel the particular atmosphere without even having to take a step through. 

Is it really that normal to be so excited about that? For him? As a friend?

It’s the most frustrating part: you are friends. Friends who supposedly can tell each other everything. Friends who can ask each other anything. 

You should be able to talk about it. Just ask him. If there’s anything behind this whole mess, if he means to tell you something, if it’s wholly mindless, if there’s no hidden agenda.

It should be fine. There’s only trust and affection in this friendship. 

You are still too scared, you are terrified that he’d start linking dots, ask himself some new questions, potentially answer them himself, and have you all found out.

You'd have your barely well-worn cover thrown completely away. 

You send the blank emoji. The one with even the eyes closed. It summarizes your actual state pretty well, speechless, relatively annoyed. 

Guk

She said you could try it on other parts of your body too

Guk

At first

Guk

Like on your lips or your nipples

You want to die.

Now.

No, better, you wish to have never been born. 

Why is he talking about your nipples? Why?

And through all that, you still feel like something is wrong with you, along with your feelings. 

Turns out you are so overwhelmed by his clueless inadequacy, you need a good half an hour and a random shot of tequila to get through it. When it’s gone and exhaustion of a long day and alcohol have knocked nervousness and panic out, you fall asleep, forgetting about answering his outrageous last texts. 

“What does it mean if a guy talks about your nipples?”

Min's finger stops midair, above the cash register she's been working on. She needs a good minute to get back to her senses and while you wait, anxiety invades you. Maybe you should never have brought it up. 

But this question, the torturous thing is slowly killing you.

Min finally turns her head to you, eyes squinted and eyebrows drawn low. She sucks in her pretty red lips before opening them to start formulating, with it seems a certain struggle, an answer. 

“I don’t think I quite understand.”

It’s a pretty straightforward, relatively easy question. That’s what you'd want to say but you’ve reached the state of bashful regret and decide not to press it. Some things are better just left alone. 

“Who talked about your nipples?” She ends up asking the one thing you wished she wouldn’t because there is no way you’re giving his name. 

“Doesn’t matter.” You mumble, turning around slightly, getting back to the task you were here, paid, to do -wipe the shelves clean and not talk about your “““love””” life. 

“I think it does. You wanna know if it means something? Like the guy's into you?”

“Something like that.” Your cheeks are aflame now. No doubt about it. You silently curse at your manager who refuses that you don’t wear the ugly hat that holds your hair back because having a curtain of hair to hold behind, as a help to keep some of your remained, sparse dignity would have been peachy. 

“What did he say exactly?”

Silence. You’re not elaborating. She sighs, defeated. 

“Well, I suppose... he’s considered the fact that you have boobs. If it’s a straight guy, that’s a good sign, I guess?” She shrugs.

You don’t like the answer. It’s exactly what the wrong, defective part of your brain, the one directly wired to your heart, wanted to hear. 

She doesn’t even have the context, anyway. It doesn’t mean much, doesn’t hold much power in your court of sensibility. 

She stares at the side of your face, clearly attempting to drill holes in your head to try and find some answers. You’re awfully silent, have said too much yet not enough and she’s dying to know the whole story. You won’t give in and she can tell. There’s no way you’re sharing the whole thing. The most, probably, probative point of the whole story: the sex toys. It’d turn her into a devastating tsunami of nonsense and misinterpretation and drown you in its wake and you can’t, when you’re already struggling to stay afloat, allow that.

Tag list: @fangirls94 @realswimshaddy @safi4x @pnkd @somewhereinthestarss @kpopfandomftw @kai-kai-bookshelf @pasteljoonie @ggukkieland

A/N: Don’t forget to click on the next button on top, two parts are being posted simultaneously :)

[rosemary-is-in-pesterquest]

HS2's themes are fuckin wack crap cuz like... idk it all starts with the epilogues, right? the thing that the epilogues are trying to say is that all conflict that the characters face within the narrative is there because the audience cast their gaze upon this story and demanded entertainment. something has to happen on the stage to keep us watching, thus, it is the audience's fault that the characters suffer. but that's bullshit for so many reasons. for one thing, it ignores the role of the author. audience demand doesn't force an author's hands to write... that's a decision that the author made. we could've lived with nothing at all.

and conflict comes in many flavors. some stories hardly have any conflict at all. the whole iyashikei genre exists, like, I think we're well past understanding that cynicism, tragedy, and destruction are not the only forces that can drive a narrative. "conflict" is not the only reason for a story to be told. once again, stories tell us as much about the author as their audience. the kind of story an author deems worthy of telling is just as relevant to consider as the kind of story an audience deems worthy of attention.

and even in conflict driven stories... it matters what the conflict is, who wins, how, and why. as a simple example, when the conflict is a battle between good and evil, good wins, it does so by way of the power of friendship, and the reason it is presented this way is to promote the idea that you should be kind and help others... that's a story with a purpose. obviously this is like, children's cartoon level simple, and a story can be written to say different or more complex things, but I should always be able to ask those questions and come up with an answer.

if, as an author, Hussie wanted to accuse his audience of being culpable in the suffering of his characters, he would at least have to present the reader with a meaningful choice. and at first glance, it would almost seem like he did. meat and candy, even by their naming convention, seem as though they are giving you the option to consume a light or dark tale. but even in the names, there is a seed of judgement. Hussie has described the concept of a narrative containing both "meat" and "candy" in terms of story content, wherein meat is anything heavy in terms of plot or drama, and candy is anything that provides levity as a counterbalance, such as jokes or feel good fluff. these categories are already identified as "substance" vs. "a lack of substance" which places value on the cynical, dark route as being more truthful... conflating cynicism with realism.

and already I can see making a case for the idea that neither route is legitimate, because no story should subsist on just one or the other... both need to be at play for the story to be balanced. and you could even argue that the lampooning of the epilogues' legitimacy was the point... that they were supposed to be outside of canon and regarded as illegitimate all along. but then not only does that negate the author's ability to let the audience choose the kind of story they're participating in, but the story itself doesn't play by its own rules.

does candy truly read like some fluffy pandering fanservice filler, the way one might expect it to? and is meat totally devoid of any levity, while focusing only on plot machinations and/or the characters' dramatic downward spiral? I would argue that, even though the consensus seems to be that both routes are equally dismal, neither even gets dark enough to live up to that end of the bargain either. the execution is messy... the concept doesn't hold up.

and what of the initial concept? that the audience's observation of a story forces the characters to enact a conflict for the sake of our entertainment? is that really what's going on here? from the initial pitch, you could already tell that the answer was no. nobody asked for this. and so we cast our apparently destructive audience gaze onto Homestuck 2.

but there, we find another curveball. the story is... almost becoming self aware? in that it casts a character in the role of the author, and also identifies him firmly as the villain. but see, this is still a blame shift. and maybe that would've been less obvious if Andrew Hussie had not introduced himself as a character inside of his own web comic throughout the original narrative. the true author is already here.

the villain of homestuck was never the audience, and it was never a fictional character. if we're really shattering the 4th wall... if we're really ceasing our suspension of disbelief, pulling back the curtain, and acknowledging that these characters are fabricated, manipulated entities with real people behind the wheel, then there is only one conclusion we can possibly come to. the author has control over the narrative... no one else. and the things the author chooses to say with the platform they've made for themselves? those things are on them. what are we to understand about the author, as his audience?

this is why people are looking past the story entirely and engaging with the creative team, for better or for worse. if you break your story enough, it won't work anymore. and when the audience finds it in shambles, completely unusable as a story... you know, the thing it was intended to be? they might actually look to the people who broke it and ask them why they did that. it was a nice story. it performed several functions that people actually enjoyed. was dismantling it like this really the most fulfilling thing they could've done with it?

and I'll tell you another thing. part of why people take it so personally is because, just like how Andrew Hussie, the homestuck character, was a stand-in for Andrew Hussie, the human being... many of the characters in homestuck were stand-ins for us. John Egbert was for people who had an obsessive nerdy interest in movies, Rose was for people who wrote fanfiction, Nepeta was for people who ship characters a lot, she and Terezi were for people who RP, and also... Dave was for people who were trying to act cooler than they felt, Jade was for people who were lonely, Kanaya was for people who wanted to help people and be accepted, Vriska was for people who were hard to love and felt judged for that.

who do these writers think they're messing with?

and I just want to make it clear that I'm not condoning any kind of harassment of them, or anything like that. ultimately, my point here is that we are not our effigies. and in the same way that an author can't blame shift onto a fictional character, a person cannot claim the direction of a fictional story as a reason to do real harm.

but homestuck was always unique in that it spoke very directly to its audience. when Hussie added real pieces of us to his fake people, he had a powerful vehicle for the messages that he wanted us to hear. lots of stories have characters that are written to be relatable, but you'd be hard pressed to find ones that feel quite so specific as the cast of homestuck. to our era. to our humor. to the values of people growing up in our online cultural circumstances.

if this specific author is going to choose to act like a villain, at least in the small-scale context of this comic, then what is that setting us up to be? maybe nothing so presumptuous as a hero... maybe just like, Dave of Guy, y'know? but Dave made normal a pretty heroic thing to be... I think it's up to us to just be normal and have normal fun, in spite of the shit show. regular old homestuck already said all the valuable stuff it was gonna. for my part, I'm just gonna take that and run off with it. ignoring HS2 doesn't make it go away, but paying attention to it doesn't make it good either... so I guess whatever.

that's the themes. the themes are just a big "so what" shrug. most complicated way to say "who cares" I've ever seen.

This is a really good analysis

[the-jukeboxghostlove]

This blog appears to be dead, but I am /starving/ for some content for The Inpatient and I saw that you said you'd write for both it and/or Until Dawn, so if you do come back I'd be honored if you responded to this with some Gordon Bennet x male!Inpatient content. 👀 👀

First fic of 2019! :D I’m terrible at finishing fics so it ends a bit abruptly but I do hope that it’s up to par! Also winged the dialogue so lemme know if I fucked it up :’)

- Ghost

———-

Gordon Bennet had been told it would only be for a few days. Bragg had called him in and told him as much when they’d first suggested sending someone in under a patient guise to keep watch. Just a few days to gauge if the treatments were successful and the problems with the breach were resolved, and then Gordon could kick back and enjoy a hearty raise and all the perks it entailed. He thought he should have asked more questions, suggested a contingency in case things backfired, but there wasn’t enough time to dwell on it before he’d shrugged on the patient clothes and sat down in the dingy, low lit room, heels bouncing restlessly on the floor waiting for the orderly to come.

When the door finally clicked he perked up, watching Abe wheel the patient in and help the guy get on his feet and over to the bed before leaving, looking almost too happy to be out of there. His charge wasn’t fully awake yet, Gordon realized, watching the gradual  rise and fall of the other man’s chest when his eyes didn’t open, and Gordon took the opportunity to properly gauge his new roommate.

He didn’t look the investigator type that he’d imagined, but he definitely couldn’t have pulled off pretending to be a doctor here like he’d apparently planned; frankly Gordon wanted to laugh, half wishing he’d been on shift to watch this guy scurry around like some kind of elaborate spy thinking he could get away with it. This newcomer was fresh faced and healthy, minus a slight flush from the permanent chill, and it was a welcome change from the sunken faces he was used to seeing, one he’d have to get used to over the next couple of days.

It took awhile for the guy to wake up, long enough for Gordon to rehearse things and make it believable, and the confused, blank expression on the patients face as he looked around the room only drove home to idea that Gordon wasn’t getting anything out of him just yet. Gordon guessed he remembered little, but didn’t realize just how little until he’d try coaxing a name out of the patient, seeing him stare down at the floor for a few moments, searching for something before eventually answering.

“I don’t know.”

—–

This stay was going worse than he’d first thought. It was either bearably cold or downright freezing, a dingy mattress already doing in his back while he slept; it almost made Gordon miss the heating in his office, and it was only getting worse over time. He probably would have found a way to sneak back to it by now if he didn’t have to worry about keeping up appearances - it looked like he was in it for the long run.

Time passed, and Gordon monitored his charge as instructed but only ever had short responses and long pauses to ever report back on; frustrating, but he’d handled worse. He’d almost considered letting Bragg know they’d succeeded in wiping the memories and call it done until the second night.

He’d woken up to find the patient shaking him, calling his name until he grunted to let him know he was finally up.

“-I’m a reporter” Was the only thing he heard, and suddenly Gordon was awake.

“What?”

“I’m a reporter - was, I think. I just - I, I don’t know but it feels true.” He looked almost ecstatic to know, the happiest he’d seen th guy since the beginning and Gordon felt his heart dropping into his stomach realizing this wasn’t going to be nearly as clean cut as he’d first hoped.

Gordon sighed and ran a hand over his face, pushing himself up onto his elbows and shifting to give the patient enough room to prop themselves against the bed.

“Okay” he said finally once they’d settled down. “What else do you remember?”

The rest of the night was spent trying to prod more memories out of him but Gordon couldn’t get much more information aside from the initial realisation and soon the conversation had turned to Gordon’s own story. It took a good few white lies and masked truths until his answers satisfied his patients nagging curiosity and they both returned back to their respective beds, where Gordon took the next hour mulling up a report in his fitful attempts to get back to sleep.

—–

The next wave of memories came after Gordon punched him. He regretted it now, fingers pressing against the bright red marks dusting his knuckles and frowning at the sting it left. An unpleasant reminder, one that he told himself he couldn’t leave be, not with everything else going to hell anyways.

The patient had come round some time ago but hadn’t said a word, back turned and staring at the wall, unmoving other then to shift in a useless attempt to get more comfortable. That didn’t change when Gordon sat down beside him. It was only when he reached a hand out to touch his shoulder that he moved, tensing and rolling onto his back, looking up at Gordon where he could get a good look at the side of his face, red and mottled with the growing signs of a forming bruise. Neither spoke at first, expecting the other to say something, anything; Gordon was the first to break the silence.

“Look I-” He paused “-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, well, how is it?”

He watched the patient touch his cheek, a sour expression settling in no doubt feeling the pain throbbing beneath the skin.

“Hurts; but I’ll live” A few moments of quiet passed, and Gordon found himself reaching for the hand still pressed against the patient’s cheek, pausing only when they stopped him with a noise of confusion.

“Can I…?” he trailed off, gesturing towards the patient’s face.

He seemed to mull it over for a few moments before eventually nodding. Taking his face into his hands he took some time to asses the damage, softening his grip once he noticed the discomfort. His face was softer than he thought all things considered, gaunter than before, but he looked otherwise fine aside from the mark growing darker where he’d been hit.

Gordon Grimaced seeing it up close now.

“Yeah, that’s going to bruise - we’ll have to get you something for that - soon, hopefully”

“It’ll be fine; I don’t care about it right now.” This time when Gordon’s charge looked up at him it was a lot more sure than before, less clouded confusion hazing his eyes and more clarity as they said-

“I remembered something else.”

—–

…A week had passed. A week that felt like years with the growing hunger and radio silence from the outside world making things unbearable and things were getting desperate. They were both starving in here, that much was evident, but even through the hunger Gordon could feel the mounting dread that something had gone very, very wrong out there. So what did that mean for them?

Marks marred the metal door, a desperate attempt the two had made to take it down but it still didn’t budge, and now Gordon had retreated back to the window, hands curled in a knuckle white grip against the bars and head pressed against them as he looked out across the spiraling mountain landscape; eerily beautiful but nothing but a big ironic fuck you from the nut job who built this place now that they were trapped.

The patient was curled up on the bed, conserving his strength for the next attempt at the door. He was a lot more alert in light of the returning memories, a small mercy which made him sharper than before, aware. If he cared Gordon would have considered it a loss, something to strike off of the proverbial chalkboard once the experiment was over. It didn’t matter now though, not when they were going to die down in this goddamn hellhole.

Gordon hadn’t even realized he’d booted the wall till pain blossomed up his foot and he hissed sharply, grip tightening as anger burned through his stomach - an anger towards even the very emptiness left there. His head turned at the hand suddenly pressed against one of his own, another hovering against his back as if providing a silent comfort.

The patient looked worse for wear, paler and void of the usual healthy flush that had been there just days before; he wasn’t the only one suffering, Gordon had to remind himself, but he was confused at the smile his charge still had. It was meant to be reassuring he supposed…and in a way it was.

“They’ll come back for us.”

Gordon huffed and turned back to the window.

“Sure if there’s anyone left.”

“There has to be - and they’ll come back when they know something’s happened, they have to-”

“And how do you know that?”

The two were face to face now, staring expectantly for a response from the charge, brow furrowed, and the grip on Gordon’s hand tightening when the other man spoke.

“I don’t know” he said finally, now coming to rest directly at Gordon’s side. “But I have hope; and I know that we’ve got to pull through this together if we’re getting out of here. Because I’m not dying here - and neither are you”

Maybe it was the conviction in the words the man spoke that made him almost believe it, or maybe they were finally getting bold, but the press of lips against his own as soon as the patient finished talking. It must have been a spur of the moment choice by the hesitant tongue catching across Gordon’s bottom lip as he pulled away but it was enough to spark something more.

Gordon was the one to pull him in this time, his kisses a little too eager as the sudden groan from the other man made him pull away long enough to catch the blood welling on the patients lip from the pull of teeth. The sight of it shouldn’t have sent such a rush through him, but the surge of something other than that emptiness spurred him on as the two grappled for each other and closed the gap again, sloppy open mouthed kisses filling the silence with hard breaths and pants. He felt hands digging into the collar of his shirt and was sure his own grip on the others clothes were just as tight as he pushed his tongue past his lips to meet with the patient’s own, a pleased shudder running down his spine at the muffled gasp he received in response.

By the time the two had finally pulled away Gordon was sure the two looked even more a mess than before. The patients face was flushed red as was his lips, now smeared with faint stains of blood that somehow managed to pale in comparison to the giddy grin bringing a light to his face that Gordon had all but forgotten, and Gordon could practically hear his own pulse in his ears when their foreheads came to rest together, hot breath warming his cheeks and more once hands began moving to grip at his undershirt tugging it upwards.

Things were escalating quickly, and Gordon could already tell there was no going back from this, though perhaps that point had been when he decided to go under guise in the first place; but as his hands came to join theirs in the gradual shuffle back to his bed Gordon didn’t want things to go back.

Maybe he was right; maybe help would come and he could have a couple words with that goddamn Bragg; but that could wait for now, for however long they could forget the blinding hunger and pain for something better, for as long as it lasted…

[pluralthey]

What is some advice you'd give to someone to help them go about being a full-time artist? It's expensive to live where i do (i'm not 18 yet so i still live with my dad) and i think you make around $700 a month not including commissions-- i've had commissions open as well but i'm not good at presenting myself/advertising my art, so what are some things you'd kept in mind or wish you'd have known when you were first starting out as a full time artist. oops sorry for wall of text

1) most important advice is get used to advertising yourself lol cuz you’re gonna have to.i’m absolutely terrible at it still because it’s so uncomfortable but i guess more generally i’d say learn to socialize with other artists and other people who value art. interact with other people’s content (that you GENUINELY enjoy) and leave them feedback and support them in the best way you can and make some friendsi say this because you can have like 5000 strangers who like your art but don’t want to pay for it or you can have 5 people who care about YOU as a person, and they will actually support you when they can. it’s also honestly really good for u emotionally and helps u get through times when money’s tight

2) DRAW. FURRIES. cannot stress this enough, furries are seriously the only demographic who will regularly provide income for artists at a fair price

3) i don’t make $700 a month, patreon takes a portion of my income, and 15% of it goes to self-employment tax (about 100-150 dollars per paycheck). the hellish experience known as taxes are really important to know about beforehand if you’re going to start freelancing btw

4) don’t underprice yourself, figure out how to draw at a decent pace and charge based on an hourly wage.you are going to do a lot of unpaid labor because you are going to need to draw things that aren’t commissions just so people can see your art. you should probably have your own project you’re doing on the side (comic, indie game, whatever) instead of making that unpaid labor into free requests to try to reel people in

5) roommates. part-time day job. i would be making like 300% more an hour working a min wage job than i do rn but its manageable as is because i’m splitting the cost of living.

that’s all i can think of right now fdhjkdfjhfdshj i’ve been taking commissions since i was like 18 and i am only now making a living when i’m 23 (i did go thru a period where i was 19/20 making like 300-400 a month to pay really low rent but it wasn’t a good time at all) don’t expect it to take off immediately and make sure you’re doing something you Love Doing and not just something you’re doing for money or praise

[barbosaasouza]

Shaq Fu: A Legend Reborn Review: You'd Be A Fu To Pay Full Price For This

In the early 90s, things were dope. We had Zubaz pants, Crystal Pepsi, and people would still accept a ginger ale from Bill Cosby. Basketball was also insanely popular at this time due to a glut of charismatic stars and the U.S. Olympic Dream Team. Basketball’s hottest young prospect at the time played college ball at Louisiana State and was drafted with the first overall pick in the 1992 NBA Draft. Shaquille O’Neal (better known as Shaq) was introduced to the world.

Everyone Got Their Own Video Game In The 90s

A dominant player from the beginning, Shaq became a cultural phenomenon and began racking up endorsements and deals. Everyone wanted a piece of the Shaq Attack and the man was more than willing to do business. He starred in a major motion picture, Blue Chips, with NIck Nolte and even had a platinum rap album, known as Shaq Diesel. Naturally, Shaq needed his own video game (Charles Barkley, Michael Jordan, and Scottie Pippen already had their own games), and Electronic Arts delivered Shaq Fu into the world in late 1994.

  Shaq Fu was a 2D fighting game that featured Shaq traveling to another dimension after taking a trip to Tokyo for a charity basketball game. It was a critical flop and gained notoriety in the following years as one of the worst games of its era. While its reputation is not wholly deserved, it is objectively a bad game and was destined to be an afterthought, or so you’d think. An Indiegogo campaign was launched in 2014 to help fund a sequel. The campaign reached its goal and after more than four years, the development team at Big Deez productions have delivered their vision for a modern Shaq Fu.

To get straight to the point, Shaq Fu: A Legend Reborn is a better game than the lazy cash grab that inspired it. Unlike the original Shaq Fu, A Legend Reborn is a side-scrolling arcade beat-em up, much like the classic Final Fight, Streets of Rage, or TMNT: Turtles in Time. You work your way through the levels as Shaq and use your fists and feet to pound countless grunt enemies on your way to bosses that are found at the end of each chapter. The game is fully 3D and built on the Unity engine. It looks good enough and ran well on my PC. The controls are functional, though the gameplay suffers pretty much all of the faults inherent to the genre and feels half-baked. Those are all of the positive things I can say about Shaq Fu: A Legend Reborn.

When A Crowd Funds Garbage

A Legend Reborn is at best a tone-deaf time killer with dated, unfunny satire and at worst, racist and insulting to the player’s time and money invested. You play as Shaq, who was an orphan raised by a Chinese caricature who is implied to be both a moron and pedophile. You work your way through the game’s six main chapters trying to beat up (or kill) some celebrities that may be involved in the death of Shaq’s mentor.

You go up against Donald Trump, Justin Bieber, Kim Kardashian, Mel GIbson, Paris HIlton, and Madonna. Each level is has a backdrop that fits with the boss and grunt enemies that are loosely related to the celebrity. For example, Bieber is portrayed as a pretty boy and lives in a private compound where he is protected by packs of effeminate homosexuals and crazed female supporters. He is manufacturing a purple drink full of steroids and sugar for some reason or another. He also has henchman that try and kill Shaq with grape soda cannons and his property has a giant shower head that fills the moats on the property with soda. When you get to Bieber, he turns into a chicken that you must choke to finish off. It’s so funny and awesome that I almost passed out while playing.

Kim K. is pretty much a giant ass that love tacos, Paris Hilton lives in Los Angeles and is protected by a swapped palette pack of effeminate homosexuals. She uses her dog on a leash as a whip against Shaq while he cracks jokes about her sex tape. Mel Gibson shows up and its funny because he hates the jews and Donald Trump is depicted here as his character from The Apprentice, rather than his current leader of the free world gig. It almost feels like half of the humor here was topical 4+ years ago when this project was being crowdfunded and the developers decided to just leave everything as is into 2018.

Obviously, Madonna is the big bad final boss and reveals that she is Shaq’s mother, because he was a minority baby and she loves adopting them, but she’s also a whore and left him for dead. You must punch her lots of times to get payback, only to find out that maybe Kanye is behind all of this? Can’t wait to see what clever way this all plays out.

IcyHot Won't Be Able To Soothe These Pains

This is a bad game. It’s not worth $20 and, in my opinion, not worth $5, unless you’re the kind of person that would get a kick out of Paris Hilton slut jokes in 2018 and can’t get enough lazy, casual racism. A lack of cooperative multiplayer outright dooms the title, forcing it be be endured alone by those unlucky (or stupid) enough to buy it. I’m honestly shocked that Shaq lent his name and voice to this shitheap. My guess is that he cashed the check and hasn’t seen the game. A disclaimer opens the game stating that the events depicted don’t represent Shaq’s views or opinions and that those who take issue with the content of the game shouldn’t bother him. It’s almost like the developers knew ahead of time that all of this was a bad idea and expect backlash to be directed towards O’Neal. Nice work, guys. 2/10 low-effort dick jokes

This review is based on the PC Steam release. The key provided by the publsiher. Shaq Fu: A Legend Reborn was made available for Steam, Xbox One, and PS4 on June 5, for $19.99. The game is rated Teen.

Shaq Fu: A Legend Reborn Review: You'd Be A Fu To Pay Full Price For This published first on https://superworldrom.tumblr.com/

[barbosaasouza]

Shaq Fu: A Legend Reborn Review: You'd Be A Fu To Pay Full Price For This

In the early 90s, things were dope. We had Zubaz pants, Crystal Pepsi, and people would still accept a ginger ale from Bill Cosby. Basketball was also insanely popular at this time due to a glut of charismatic stars and the U.S. Olympic Dream Team. Basketball’s hottest young prospect at the time played college ball at Louisiana State and was drafted with the first overall pick in the 1992 NBA Draft. Shaquille O’Neal (better known as Shaq) was introduced to the world.

Everyone Got Their Own Video Game In The 90s

A dominant player from the beginning, Shaq became a cultural phenomenon and began racking up endorsements and deals. Everyone wanted a piece of the Shaq Attack and the man was more than willing to do business. He starred in a major motion picture, Blue Chips, with NIck Nolte and even had a platinum rap album, known as Shaq Diesel. Naturally, Shaq needed his own video game (Charles Barkley, Michael Jordan, and Scottie Pippen already had their own games), and Electronic Arts delivered Shaq Fu into the world in late 1994.

  Shaq Fu was a 2D fighting game that featured Shaq traveling to another dimension after taking a trip to Tokyo for a charity basketball game. It was a critical flop and gained notoriety in the following years as one of the worst games of its era. While its reputation is not wholly deserved, it is objectively a bad game and was destined to be an afterthought, or so you’d think. An Indiegogo campaign was launched in 2014 to help fund a sequel. The campaign reached its goal and after more than four years, the development team at Big Deez productions have delivered their vision for a modern Shaq Fu.

To get straight to the point, Shaq Fu: A Legend Reborn is a better game than the lazy cash grab that inspired it. Unlike the original Shaq Fu, A Legend Reborn is a side-scrolling arcade beat-em up, much like the classic Final Fight, Streets of Rage, or TMNT: Turtles in Time. You work your way through the levels as Shaq and use your fists and feet to pound countless grunt enemies on your way to bosses that are found at the end of each chapter. The game is fully 3D and built on the Unity engine. It looks good enough and ran well on my PC. The controls are functional, though the gameplay suffers pretty much all of the faults inherent to the genre and feels half-baked. Those are all of the positive things I can say about Shaq Fu: A Legend Reborn.

When A Crowd Funds Garbage

A Legend Reborn is at best a tone-deaf time killer with dated, unfunny satire and at worst, racist and insulting to the player’s time and money invested. You play as Shaq, who was an orphan raised by a Chinese caricature who is implied to be both a moron and pedophile. You work your way through the game’s six main chapters trying to beat up (or kill) some celebrities that may be involved in the death of Shaq’s mentor.

You go up against Donald Trump, Justin Bieber, Kim Kardashian, Mel GIbson, Paris HIlton, and Madonna. Each level is has a backdrop that fits with the boss and grunt enemies that are loosely related to the celebrity. For example, Bieber is portrayed as a pretty boy and lives in a private compound where he is protected by packs of effeminate homosexuals and crazed female supporters. He is manufacturing a purple drink full of steroids and sugar for some reason or another. He also has henchman that try and kill Shaq with grape soda cannons and his property has a giant shower head that fills the moats on the property with soda. When you get to Bieber, he turns into a chicken that you must choke to finish off. It’s so funny and awesome that I almost passed out while playing.

Kim K. is pretty much a giant ass that love tacos, Paris Hilton lives in Los Angeles and is protected by a swapped palette pack of effeminate homosexuals. She uses her dog on a leash as a whip against Shaq while he cracks jokes about her sex tape. Mel Gibson shows up and its funny because he hates the jews and Donald Trump is depicted here as his character from The Apprentice, rather than his current leader of the free world gig. It almost feels like half of the humor here was topical 4+ years ago when this project was being crowdfunded and the developers decided to just leave everything as is into 2018.

Obviously, Madonna is the big bad final boss and reveals that she is Shaq’s mother, because he was a minority baby and she loves adopting them, but she’s also a whore and left him for dead. You must punch her lots of times to get payback, only to find out that maybe Kanye is behind all of this? Can’t wait to see what clever way this all plays out.

IcyHot Won't Be Able To Soothe These Pains

This is a bad game. It’s not worth $20 and, in my opinion, not worth $5, unless you’re the kind of person that would get a kick out of Paris Hilton slut jokes in 2018 and can’t get enough lazy, casual racism. A lack of cooperative multiplayer outright dooms the title, forcing it be be endured alone by those unlucky (or stupid) enough to buy it. I’m honestly shocked that Shaq lent his name and voice to this shitheap. My guess is that he cashed the check and hasn’t seen the game. A disclaimer opens the game stating that the events depicted don’t represent Shaq’s views or opinions and that those who take issue with the content of the game shouldn’t bother him. It’s almost like the developers knew ahead of time that all of this was a bad idea and expect backlash to be directed towards O’Neal. Nice work, guys. 2/10 low-effort dick jokes

This review is based on the PC Steam release. The key provided by the publsiher. Shaq Fu: A Legend Reborn was made available for Steam, Xbox One, and PS4 on June 5, for $19.99. The game is rated Teen.

Shaq Fu: A Legend Reborn Review: You'd Be A Fu To Pay Full Price For This published first on https://superworldrom.tumblr.com/