#darkly plays splatoon

[squishysnake]

Have You Seen This Inkfish? ⬇️

Now You Have ⬆️

[flamingskull28]

Ink burns headcannon

So ink burns are a common Injury in splatoon, they occur when an inkling or octoling is shot repeatedly by a single ink color in a single part of their body. This happens due to the different color ink burning into their skin so much that their own ink can't fully fix that part of them. Leaving a burn mark at the area in that color for a while until their body can flush it out.

It's a low level injury most of the time. It's mostly is just a sore and irritable area on the inkling/octoling. It may hurt to touch or cause slight pain when moving that area depending on how big the burn is. Most people get it playing Turf either by getting splatted a lot in a single round or fighting the same color repeatedly. This is why teams try to change color each round. It's also why splatfests have a high amount of ink burns reported during and after them.

Treatments are pretty simple. If you see a burn appearing [1st degree ink burn] try and avoid fighting that color if possible, or avoid getting shot in that general area if the first isn't possible. If it's already burned into the skin fully [2nd degree], it's recommended you stop playing Turf or whatever ink related activities you're doing though if you're careful you should be fine. At this degree you can wash the area with cold water to help cool it (ink is hot after being fired) and wash some of the forgin ink off. It should disappear in about a day or two. If the burn is becoming a darker shade [3rd degree] it is very highly recommended you stop whatever ink activities you are doing immediately (if a squid-force employee notices you trying to play with this degree burn they will stop the match and force you to stop until it's gone) at this level pain will become highly noticeable and the burn may take over a week to fully dissappear. To treat effectively wash the area with cold water and try and keep it on ice. If possible try not to strain that part of you too much. If you see a very darkly shaded ink burn [4th degree] stop all ink activities immediately, no matter how important you think they are. Further damage to that area could cause nerve damage, sometimes permanently. At this stage the ink burn will be penatrating your muscle tissue and can make it difficult to move that part of you without large spikes of pain. This degree of burn, depending on how bad it is, could stay for years or sometimes forever (though the pain will lessen over time). As for treatment, it is highly recommended you check into a hospital to reduce risks. If you are unable to for any reason (like trying to hide agent work for example) try and submerge the area in cold water while as soon as you can, of course, being careful not to submerged too much and end up splatting yourself. Avoid using that part of your body if possible wear and tear will only make it worse, applying disinfectant is also recommended as burns this deep can cause bleeding and Lead way to infection. After you do this bandage the wound and try and keep it on ice whilst straining it, after you think the area is fully cooled down make sure to eat and drink plenty while getting lots of rest while your body works to restore the damaged area. This degree of inkburn is very rare since most people stop playing after 3rd degree, the leading cause of this is high acidity Ink (I will explain in a moment) but aside from that Splatfests are the leading cause.

High acidity Ink, this is ink that that has a higher acidity level than normal. Certain people are born with this type of ink and it can carry down by generation. This ink hurts more to be hit with and causes ink burns easier, people who have it are mostly the same as other inklings/octolings though it is a common belief that high acidity Ink makes people both stronger and more irritable though it's never been proven. This trait is seemingly more common in people who evolved from venomous species of cephalopods. The octarian army considers ink acidity when choosing front line troops and when promoting solider to elites, leading to a majority of Elites having high acidity Ink and being more dangerous as a result.

Extra info

-some of the top level turf players have prominent ink burns from their years of battle.

-Agent 3's scar is technically an ink burn, since they had sanitized ink latched to their face for a long period of time and sanitized ink is the highest acidity ink known. (the degree of Burn caused is dependent on what you think.)

-Agent 4 and 3 (in my versions) have multiple ink burns due to the high acidity Ink of many frontline octolings. As does 8 due to the Metro

-4 is more proud of her scars. Seeing them as proof of her strength. 3 is indifference about it (except the one on her eye which she hates). 8 doesn't like how they look and tries to hide hers

- ink Burns during splatfast are so common they often have tents set up on the edge of the event for the pure purpose of treating them

-chargers and splatlings are the weapon that causes burns the most

- ink burns on someone's tentacles often end up sinking down to the ends of their tentacles if they occur often enough it can lead to noticeable amounts of that ink at the end of their tentacles.

Feel free to use my head Cannon in any way you like, if you want some background medical book like text for any reason. you can also just use the paragraph I wrote.

[dokidokitsuna]

So I'm currently in the middle of another losing streak in Splatoon 3-- this is gonna sound weird and "whiny gamer"-esque, but I'm pretty convinced that there are occasionally times where the game just decides that I'm not allowed to win. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ No matter what mode I play in, I'm consistently teamed up with players who spend the whole match either repeatedly running into the enemies' guns or just cowering around our spawn point, slowly watching themselves lose. Yes, even in X-Rank...I'm used to it; at times like this I just frantically recruit friends and wait for The Curse to end. >_<

Why recruit friends, you ask? Because while The Curse is active, that's the only time the matchmaking system will have mercy on me: Basically, I have to prove I deserve to be teamed with people who DO know how to play, by bringing at least one in with me.

Usually, this means that for a brief period, I get to play some fun normal matches where I actually stand a chance at winning...until last night, where something very interesting happened. ^^

I joined a team of two for some Anarchy Battles, thinking it'd be a great opportunity to finally start to win back all the points I'd been losing. And we were a pretty good team...but suddenly, our enemies were INSANELY GOOD.

Apparently, it seems I unlocked a new level of The Curse, where if I do get some skilled allies to play with, the matchmaking system now has to really really make sure I can't win by pitting me against pro-level players. Y'know, Dualie users who move exclusively with dodge rolls; Blaster users who never miss shots, people who are already on your side of the map harassing you in the first 10 seconds of the game. Those kinds of players. ^^;;;

It was...fun, in a darkly hilarious way. ^^ Like, it was still frustrating that the game was doing this to me, but the good kind of frustrating where you're ready for a really tough challenge. That's the cool thing about having allies who know how to play-- even when you're clearly outmatched, you can still try your best and make attempts to turn the tables, knowing your teammates will support you and actually react when you give them an opening.

Plus, the really freaky Splatoon players have one crucial weakness, something I learned to exploit long ago: they're not prepared to fail. ^^ Like, psychologically, they just can't bounce back from a missed shot or a surprise attack like normal players can-- I assume hundreds of hours spent mowing down innocent 3rd graders has conditioned them to expect that they should always be winning and succeeding, and that their enemies should not be capable of fighting back.

So if you can figure out how to trap them, ambush them, or even just NOT get killed by them in 0.5 seconds, they start going into panic mode. Every time they try to do something to you and fail they will come back worse, and as the game goes on it will show, as they slowly lose ground and become easier to deal with. Basically, the only way to beat them is to teach them to fear you. >:D

Of course, you need a competent team of your own in order to even get time to pull this off. ^^; But as I said, I had one, and we actually managed to win one of these insane matches together, essentially by beating the enemies back to the center and holding them off until time ran out. It was awesome, even if it was my only victory of the night. 1000% worth it~.

I almost hope The Curse will do this to me again sometime, because if I have to be on a losing streak, that's the kind I'd prefer: I'd much rather have enemies that are way too strong than allies that are way too weak.

[stormtrips]

- happy birthday -

You come home already a little bit shitfaced, having gone out with an entirely different Dirk and hopped around to a few different bars. You “behaved yourself,” got only mixed drinks even if heavy on the vodka, did some flirting, kissed a few people by the restrooms and in back alleys. No big deal, just your birthday, time to celebrate, yeah?

Fucker’s waiting for you back in your apartment, already a thick cloud of smoke wreathing his head. It doesn’t take much for you to pick up a blunt and join him on the Switch, alternating between Splatoon 2 and Super Smash Bros. Ultimate. This feels good. This feels nice, taking a load off, trusting yourself not to get too fucked up. What does it matter that you’re taking swigs of vodka right out of the bottle now? This is familiar, this is safe, this will make you feel good.

Until it doesn’t.

Until, getting up from the couch, you start staggering to the kitchen gradually slouching towards Bethlehem, holding onto the counters for balance. Until a swig turns into two swallows, three. Until the edges of your vision start closing in, like blinders put on, and until a stumble makes you brain yourself against your freezer door none too gently. Everything’s doubled, duplicated, more woozy than usual…

~

He gets back from the kitchen, surly, and sees a new friend, still nearly a stranger, sitting on the couch like he lives here. A new wave of rain is batting at the windows, an insistent pattering percussion. The coffee table is littered with empty bottles (vodka, beer, tequila) and assorted cannabis paraphernalia. Did he seriously hit a dab? Doesn’t matter. He ignores the man on the couch—he can take care of that later, no threat as of right now—and starts to tidy up, muttering darkly to himself. “ты не можешь пригласить себя вот так. опасно оставаться слишком поздно.”

Fucker just blinks at him lazily as he pokes his fingertips into bottle openings, starts tossing them all towards the front door of his apartment. “You ok there? Sit down, take a load off. Here, I have you queued up for Samus.”

“я не хочу.” He doesn’t look up from his task, tossing the glass garbage idly, fumbling with a drunk hand for more.

“Some fucking party so far. Seriously, dude, you’re just standing there throwing shit, come s—“

The vodka bottle that was in his hand gets abruptly tossed against the wall. The glass shatters in a comically loud noise, cracking into two main pieces, the material at the fault line exploding into little shards. It’s a bad idea to order him around when he’s like this. “не говори мне что делать,” he says with his back still to Fucker, back visibly corded and tensed under his shirt.

The atmosphere in the room still doesn’t change; Fucker still has a lazy, nonplussed grin on his face, blinking at him slowly through the haze he made in the living room. “How about you untape your dick from your asshole and sit the fuck down.”

“нет!” This time, he reaches down impulsively for another bottle—larger, tequila—and throws it with the entire strength of his muscular arm. The noise is even louder, the shards of this mess sharper and more scattered. From miles away, thunder rolls  “убирайся отсюда,” he shouts, guttural, as he wheels around on Fucker, balling his fist. “не мешай мне, тебе здесь не место—”

Something changes in the set of Fucker’s eyes behind his green translucent shades; the set of his eyebrows would give it away, too. He puts down the controller, a little too smoothly, and stares right up. His voice comes out low and smooth, at first. “Is this how you want to play it?” Then, fanged, nearly spitting out the consonants with a buzzing sound behind it, “ǝɯɐƃ ǝƃɐnƃuɐן ǝɥʇ ʎɐןd uɐɔ oɥʍ ǝuo ʎןuo ǝɥʇ ʇou ǝɹ'noʎ.”

It’s a clear threat. He doesn’t have to know the language to be able to tell by the tone, the way the words hit his skin. It’s a signal in response to what he’s been sending, the same underlying message: back off. Of course, this is his apartment, this is his space, this is his sanctuary, and to him, this is some entitled little asshole parking his ass on the couch like he somehow deserves to be here. There’s a snarl under Fucker’s voice that he recognizes, because the same feral warning growl has been under his Russian the whole time.

The calculation gets made in a split-second, in the same amount of time it takes for lightning to fork out of the clouds and strike a few buildings away. “убирайся, пока я не сделал тебе больно.” A promise—Fucker is stacked, but short, and there is nothing Fucker can do to physically best him that he hasn’t already seen from Dolch (or even Dimitri). If it’s to be a fight, he can fight, his body almost aches for it, for the kind of violence that will let him unleash everything in him. As the cracking boom of the close thunder echoes off the walls, he reaches back, opens his sylladex, feels the grip of a warhammer slide easily between his fingers—

Fucker rises from the couch, almost too fast for his eyes to track. He reaches out with his left hand, his fingers glowing brighter as he reaches forward, until the bright white of his reach is nearly all he can see. A neon pink glow bathes his fingertips and radiates even hotter as the reach goes somehow beyond physical, reaches inside of him to touch—oh, shit. That’s Heart powers. Something he’s never had to contend with before, and this scathing exploration of his soul catches him off-guard. Fucker has these powers honed, weaponized, in a way he can’t possibly hope to counter. “ʇ!s. ʞɔnɟ ǝɥʇ. uʍop”

~

Those fingertips reach further than your heart, creep down to the curl of your gut feelings and spread up to the folds of thought in your mind. You didn’t want—this wasn’t—“Don’t,” comes out in English, finally, after so long, and your hammer falls to the floor, out of your grip, smashing through the hardwood of your living room to embed itself in the planks. Your own hands reach forward, humming neon blue, and your powers reach desperately into Fucker’s lungs. If you take his Breath, you can make him stop, he’ll choke on his own breathing and lose his animus and calm down—

It gets pushed away as effortlessly as he’s searching your everything to twist it against you. Like he’s had practice playing with Breath powers already, like he’s possessed someone like you before to deploy your aspect like a nuclear blast. Out of your control, your body whumps down ass-first into an armchair, even as you’re still reaching out with heated ineffectual hands to get control back over this situation. “ǝɯ ɥʇ!ʍ ʞɔnɟ ʇ'uop,” comes out in a bugmash of hard, almost clicking sounds, before Fucker reiterates himself in English. “Don’t fuck with me.” He might be a 5’5 manlet, but he’s not fucking around, and next your arms get pinned to the arms of the chair. You can still dig your nails into the leather, but just barely, before he takes that from you, too.

This, of course, is when Dolch swings around again. He’d already told you he didn’t want to be around when you were drinking, and now that everything’s gone completely pear-shaped, you can kind of understand why—though you’re not entirely sure how you got from off-your-ass drunk to being mind-controlled by Fucker. “No mames,” comes out of his mouth as the front door of your apartment sweeps over crackling, broken glass and he crunches in over it, “what the fuck did I just walk in on?”

You open your mouth to answer; Fucker closes it. As the haze of Heart powers sweeps through you, the last thing you can sense is the two of them starting a conversation as Fucker explains, “He just had to test me.”

~

Volition, cut. Sensation, cut. Speech, hearing, cut. Taste, smell, cut. Sight, cut. Like so many puppet strings, your connection to the outside world gets blocked, and you get trapped here. Inside your mind. Your least favorite place to be. And you’re not alone—Fucker is in here too, rummaging around through whatever is laying around in here, uncovered and unprotected.

The last thing you think, before that awareness gets obliterated, too, and Fucker subjugates you to his will, is: Hope he hates what he finds.

[hollow-of-falling-stars]

There’s Always Another Choice

Chapter Three

First | Previous | Next

I spent all night plus my second block at school fixing this chapter and adding more stuff, if there are any grammar/spelling/punctuation mistakes, it’s because I was sleep deprived while writing it.

The final scene was the horror route. According to the script, I would learn that Mark is actually a psychopath and the date would end in murder.

Deja vu much, eh? Now’s not the time...

You followed Mark dutifully to the theater, zoning out as Mark rambled on about art and theater.

At least he’s trying to follow the script... Yeah, and the sooner this is over the sooner I can finish this.

“OH, it’s starting!” Mark said, turning around quickly to watch the stage.

You snapped back to the present and turned to the stage. Nothing is happening, confused you turn back to Mark, but he’s gone.

I don’t remember this part in the script... Neither do I, something’s wrong. You look back at Alex, they looks just as confused as you do, but they waved their hand at you to signal that you should just keep going.

You look back to the stage and you hear a low rumble, your vision goes fuzzy and something flickered into your line of sight.

What is that...?

You’re faced with tunnel vision and your ears ring, not quite masking the screeching in the background.

You tremble and shake, clutching your head in your hands when suddenly-

“Did you miss me?”

A face so familiar to your past is suddenly very close to you, and he’s grinning like a man gone mad.

Your mouth is left agape as he continues to speak, his form radiating auras that hurt to look at, but his skin is a sickly gray that looks it was either taken from a black and white horror movie or a corpse.

Oh yeah, it was taken from a corpse. Your corpse.

His voice is deep and it echoes, but there’s no doubt in your mind that this is Damien, probably Celine too. It takes more than one soul to keep a corpse walking after all.

“I missed you.... Very much.” He says, grinning.

You honestly can’t tell if he’s trying to be reassuring or not, but he’s stepping back now, thankfully. Personal space is still a thing you enjoy.

“I’ve been waiting a long time to see you again.” Damien says, you assume it’s Damien. The body looks like his, but by the snapping you hear whenever he moves, you can tell that it’s actually still your broken body.

“I’ve been pushed aside... Replaced... Mocked.” Damien explained, Clearly he doesn’t recognize me, or maybe he assumes I’m still in the mirror... You think to yourself.

“And then, he had the gall to not invite me on his little adventure with you.”

Adventure? What’s that supposed to mean?

“No more,” He says, “Never again. It’s my turn now.”

I.... Damien just stop this please. I really want to kill you but you’re making this difficult.

Damien’s stance changed, his form flickering every color there is. He looked angry.

“I’ve been waiting patiently. HE PROMISED HE WOULD LET ME IN AGAIN.” Damien snarled.

It was getting hard to keep up with Damien’s movements, he kept moving behind you or beside you, forcing you to turn your head constantly so that you could keep an eye on him.

“I’m tired of giving people a choice.” He said, adjusting his suit as he tried to calm himself down.

He sighed, “But I suppose I could give you one last option. Take your pick, anything of four different choices. More than he could’ve given you, and let’s see how far down this rabbit hole really goes.”

Between you stood four doors, they all whispered something different when you got close to them.

“Don’t Blink”

“Don’t Move”

“Relax”

And finally, the only real option there was,

“FREEDOM”

“Well,” Damien said, grinning that awful smile of his, “Take. Your. Pick.”

You look up at him confidently, “I choose Freedom.” You say, because freedom is freedom, and you sure as hell aren’t leaving until you get what you came here for.

“Good choice,” Damien says, “But... why should we have to choose in life?”

Maybe because life is ours to choose? You taught me that Damien, you should know this.

“If dinner is what you want, then I can provide.” Damien said, sitting down at a table. There was no food, but there were two wine glasses and an unopened bottle of sparkling wine.

“And I can take you wherever you’d like to go, I can especially take you places you do̢n'҉t̛ ͠w̕a͢n̢t̶ ̡t̶o go.͏” He said, grinning darkly.

Crrreeeeepppyyyy!

“It’s exciting, knowing that there are endless possibilities, waiting for you.” Now he’s leaning closer, you carefully shuffled your chair away from him. Why are his eyes twitching?

“I CAN GIVE YOU ANYTHING!” You stood up quickly as Damien started scratching desperately at his clothes, manically. The sound the chair made scraping across the floor barely covered the sharp gasp that came from behind you.

Alex was here as well. Hopefully they’d stay as low and as quiet as possible.

“I’ve been waiting a long time to get some personal time between us...” He said, smoothing his shirt down only to have another burst of insanity.

“THERE’S NOTHING YOU OR HE CAN DO TO STOP ME!”

You scrambled back into your chair, hoping Damien didn’t notice Alex’s muffled shrieks.

Damien remained oblivious, thankfully. And you couldn’t help but wonder what was causing these outbursts.

“So... Now that we’re here together, we should really  get to know each other.” Damien said, parts of him separating to show a man screaming in pain.

“You just need to let me in, it’s as simple as that.” Damien purred.

You snort and pushed away from the table, careful to keep Damien’s eyes focused on you, “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before, and I remember exactly what happened. You think I’m falling for this again? In your dreams, asshole.”

The background of what you assumed was the Upside Down faded away, you were standing outside the theater. Damien looked angry.

“You’re never, ever, going to escape me! Not now, not-” Damien grunted as he was tackled to the ground.

It’s Mark! Where's he been?

“What the hell? Where did you come from?!” Damien groaned as he fought to stay upright.

“Let’s see how you fight with a bag over your head!” Mark said, pulling a black bag from his pocket and throwing it over Damien’s head. “Two can play at that game, mister!” Damien retorted, pulling out his own.

“What the hell is going on?” You heard Alex whisper. Good to know that they got out too, one less thing to worry about.

“I have no idea, but you should probably leave.” You replied quietly, watching as the two fought.

You had never noticed it before, but Mark and Damien looked almost identical, it was really on the hair parting and mannerisms that set them apart. Weird how they aren’t even related.

One of them pulled out a gun, only for the other to throw it to the ground in front of you.

You pick it up quickly, and looked back at Alex. “Leave now, whatever is happening right now doesn’t concern you, Alex. Run while you still can.”

They shook their head, “No way in hell am I leaving you now, this is insane! I’m not leaving without you, (Y/N)!”

Damien and Mark are trying to get your attention, spouting nonsense about the other to try and make you shoot.

You wouldn’t shoot, not yet. Maybe you could clear up what happened back at the manor, with or without bloodshed, that didn’t matter.

You needed answers.

FINALLY FINISHED THE CHAPTER!!!  The next one is the one with the trigger warnings for sure, I honestly thought it’d be done sooner than this. Sorry y’all, but hey! 

Shit’s gonna get real in the next chapter.

@ego-protection-squad @sassy-in-glasses @greyumi @egoimagines @slim-jims @splatoon-jim @bitten1ce 

*Also, in the last chapter I had the placeholder name Drew for Alex as well as male pronouns because I wasn’t sure what I would be doing with that character, I may have missed changing them to Alex/they/them/their. If any of you noticed that in Chapter Two, would you mind letting me know? Thanks!

**Not sure if I was clear enough last chapter, not that anyone pointed it out, but the four oc’s take place of the titles Director, Camera Handler, and Makeup Artists. Tyler, Ethan, Pam, and Kathryn (I think Kathryn was on lights actually) played those roles. That’s what I meant by replacements!

[lesbian-sora]

Winter Wonderland

Day eight!

Summary ~ In a last-minute attempt to get away from his family for the holidays, Dan rents a cabin in the woods of North Western America. He knows for a fact that this Christmas will be the perfect Christmas no matter how hard he tries. 

Meanwhile, Phil is running from his feelings and responsibilities by hiding out in his aunts’ cabin. He knows it’s not a perfect solution, but he needs to get away from his usual Christmas traditions. 

As they say, great minds think alike, but maybe sharing a cabin with a stranger wasn’t what they meant.

Genre ~ Fluff, strangers to lovers, family angst

Words ~ 2.3K/~10K

Warnings ~ Only swearing in this part, but referenced character death later on

Author’s Note ~ Yay! I’m gonna try to do a multi chaptered fic again! It won’t be super long, so I’ll probably be done in maybe a week, but I’m planning to get out a chapter every day until it’s done. If this fic isn’t your thing, that’s okay! I’ll still be uploading a Christmas fic every day, too. Here we go!

Next chapter!

Prompt me!

Buy me a coffee!

Yesterday’s fic!

The snow was falling lightly on the mountain, but the narrow road that wound up it stayed clear and cut a dark spiral through the white powder. A lone bright yellow cab made its slow but steady trek up. The December air was cold, but inside was warm and soft Christmas music played over the speakers. The driver just hummed and drummed his fingers against the wheel to the tune of the song, but his passenger in the back seat was staring out the window and talking on the phone.

“Dan, I can’t believe you’ve run off to America and left me here alone at Christmas,” Louise whined across the line. “You could have at least given me a warning so I had a chance to give you your Christmas present. Now I’ll have to wait until New Years to give it to you and that’s just ridiculous.”

“People give each other Christmas gifts late all the time,” Dan corrected her. Remember year before last when we were both so busy that we didn’t manage to get our gifts delivered until February.”

“That was awful! We swore we’d never speak of it again! I had a wrapped gift on my hearth for almost three months!”  

“Actually, we never swore to anything, you just told me not to,” Dan smirked. “Besides, that’s just proof that you’ll be fine keeping my gift for an extra week. If you want you can come pick me up from the airport and give it to me then.”

“You wish. I don’t give festivity deserters rides anywhere.”

“You’re so mean to me,” Dan whined half-heartedly. As he said this, the car rolled to a halt, but when he looked outside, the cabin was nowhere to be seen. “Anyway, I have to go. I’ll call you when I get settled.” He hung up and leaned forward to get the driver’s attention. “Hey, why are we stopped?”

“This is as far as I can take you,” the driver explained. “That’s the driveway, but it requires four-wheel drive, which I don’t have. Sorry, but I gotta leave you here.”

Dan quickly pulled up his maps and groaned. “But I have luggage! And it’s snowing!”

“Sorry, pal,” the driver shrugged. “Nothing I can do.”

Muttering darkly to himself, Dan paid the man and got his bags out of the back of the car, relieved that he’d left in such a hurry that he didn’t have time to pack as much as he normally would have. Thankfully, the snow was light, and he started his hike through the woods. About three minutes in, he discovered that his shoes were not at all designed for this, and all he could do was hope that his sneakers weren’t ruined.

Ten minutes later, he made it to the cabin and was surprised to see an old beat up blue truck parked outside. He assumed it belonged to a groundskeeper or cleaner and shrugged. Maybe they’d be willing to show him where everything was. As soon as he hauled his things up the last few stairs, he immediately started shedding his damp clothes and made a beeline for the lounge (or should he call it a “living room” now that he was in America?) to start a fire and get warmed up. Much to his surprise, there was already a small fire crackling away happily, so he sat down right in front of it, and let his eyes slip closed at the feeling of warmth.

“Uh, hello?”

Dan’s eyes snapped open to see a man, probably around his height, standing in front of him with a confused expression and a thick blanket. Dan smiled and offered a hand. “Hi, I’m Dan; I’m renting this place for the next couple weeks. Do you work here?”

“Uh, no, I don’t work here,” the man said, and Dan could hear a familiar accent coloring his tone. “And what do you mean you’re ‘renting’ it?”

“I mean I went on Airbnb and booked it through New Year’s,” Dan said. “And if you don’t work here, what are you doing here?”

“This is my aunts’ place,” he said. “They’re letting me stay here for the holidays while they’re in Italy.”

Dan flushed darkly and covered his face with his hands. “I’m so sorry. I must have the wrong address or something.”

The man laughed. “No problem. Who are you renting from? I haven’t been here for years, but I may know them. I could give you a ride so you don’t have to walk.”

Still a bit rosey-cheeked, Dan smiled up at him. “That would be great. I’m renting from the Moore-Davies and their place is called Badger Rest. Do you know it?”

The man sputtered. “I, uh, yeah, I know it.”

Dan beamed. “Great! Let me grab my stuff and I’ll be out of your hair as soon as possible.”

The man groaned. “No, look. I know Badger Rest because my aunts are Sara and Jessica Moore-Davies. I convinced them to name it Badger Rest because this is where I got my pet badger.”

“Jessica Moore-Davies is your aunt?” Dan clarified. “The same Jessica Moore-Davies that I’ve been chatting with for a week about renting this place?”

“Yeah,” the man said. “She married my Aunt Sara, who I talked to day before yesterday. They must not have talked to each other about letting people stay here.”

“What am I gonna do?” Dan moaned, burying his face in his hands.

“Hey, hey, don’t worry!” the man said, a twinge of panic to his voice. “I’m not going to kick you out or anything. You paid good money to stay here, I’m sure. Besides, I doubt you have anywhere around here to stay anyway. If you want, we can share. At least for today.”

Dan peered up at him through his fingers. “You’d really do that for me?”

The man grinned. “Of course! Besides, this works out. Now I can be sure that you’re not going to throw any wild house parties and ruin my aunts’ cabin.”

Dan snorted. “As if I could throw a party.”

The man chuckled and offered a hand. “Phil Lester is the name. I was about to get started on dinner. Do you have a problem eating stir-fry? I’m not the best at cooking, but I think I’ve got this down at least.”

Dan took the hand and surprised Phil by using it to pull himself to his feet. “Dan Howell. Do you want some help cooking?”

“Yeah!” Phil nodded. “Careful with the cabinets, though. I’m notorious for leaving them open and I don’t want you to hit your head on the corner or anything.”

“Duly noted.”

Together, they chopped vegetables and sauteed meat and cooked rice, chatting the entire time. There was one instance where Phil almost caught a tea towel fire, but Dan managed to snatch it off the hot eye before any real damage could be done. As they talked Dan quickly learned that he and Phil had basically the same set of interests, just with varying levels of enthusiasm. When Dan learned that Phil had brought his entire Switch system and several games, he almost kissed him.

“Dinner was great, thanks,” Dan sighed, letting his eyes slip closed with a contented sigh.

“I’d say you’re welcome, but you kicked me off the stove halfway through,” Phil teased.

Dan grinned. “I said what I said.”

Phil snickered. “Do you want to play Mario Kart? I’ll pick up the dishes if you go get everything set up.”

“You are like a gift from god.”

“Sure. Give me your plate.”

Dan did as he was told and scurried off to set up their game. Phil had only gotten to the cabin less than an hour before Dan, so the system was still in its traveling case on the floor next to the TV. Thankfully, setup didn’t take too long, and after he untangled and plugged in the wires, Dan was shuffling through Phil’s games. At first he’d thought it was adorable that Phil carried his games around in their original boxes instead of a travel case like everyone else, but soon learned that Phil was an actual demon.

“Hey, so I--”

“These are all in the wrong cases, you absolute trollop!” Dan interrupted gently chucking the box for Mario Odyssey (which contained Zelda) at Phil’s shins.

Phil just giggled with no shame. “I’m pretty sure Mario Kart is in the Splatoon case.”

Dan shot him a glare and opened the box, sure enough finding Mario Kart right where Phil said it would be. “You’re an awful, despicable person,” Dan informed, sitting himself on the couch next to Phil as the menu screen popped up. He handed the blue controler over to Phil who quickly selected the game.

“Who do you normally play as?” Phil asked casually, roaming his cursor over all the characters, not stopping on one for too long.

“Usually, I just play as my Mii, but I don’t have that here so I guess I’ll be one of the Squid Kids. You?”

“Uuuuhhh,” Phil frantically switched from character to character until he finally decided. “Tanooki Mario!”

Dan cut him a playful side glare as Phil picked a cup and course and the race started. “Is this your way of telling me you’re a furry?”

“I dunno,” Phil said, totally deadpan, more focused on the game. “Is this your way of telling me you’re whatever a squid furry is called?”

Dan laughed. “First of all, definitely yes. Second, I guess they’d be squishies or something? I mean technically furries are all manner of anthropomorphised animals, so furry works anyway.”

Phil sputtered out a laugh. “Alright, good to know. Not sure I want to know how you know that, but I guess I’m glad I do now.”

“Oh, please. It’s like you don’t even internet, Phil.”

“Stop making me laugh, this is cheating!” Phil giggled as his character was fished out of the water.

“Maybe you should just get better at Mario Kart. Wait-- Hey!” Dan laughed as Phil abandoned his own controler to try and knock Dan’s from his hands. “This is blatant cheating.”

“Maybe you should just get better at Mario Kart,” Phil mocked. They tussled for a moment before the final horns sounded on the game.

Dan glanced at the screen, gaping. “Fifth? I came in fifth?” Phil was now wheezing with laughter, so Dan tossed his controller aside to continue their miniature wrestling match, this time with more tickling.

“Stop, stop, you win!” Phil choked out. Dan backed off and they laid there panting for a moment before Phil looked over with a wide grin. “So, round two?”

*_*_*_*_*_*_*

They played Mario Kart into the night, later than Dan was happy to admit, but when Dan fell asleep mid-race, they decided to call it quits. That’s when realization washed over Dan. “Phil there’s only one bed here.”

Phil grimaced. “I totally forgot about that. Maybe they have and air mattress somewhere?”

Dan was doubtful. “I dunno, your aunt was pretty adamant about making sure I knew there was only one bed.”

“Yeah, but we might as well look.”

“Might as well. I’ll check the bedroom, you check the hall closet.”

“I’ll check the attic, too,” Phil said. “I know they used to keep all kinds of stuff up there.”

Dan nodded and wandered off down the hall to the bedroom with ensuite. He doubted there was going to be an air mattress stored in the bedroom, but you never knew. He checked the closet and under the bed, but was met with the expected clothes and storage boxes. Nothing even remotely helpful here. The story was the same in the bathroom, and Dan returned to the lounge empty handed.

Phil showed up carrying an armful of blankets, but when he saw Dan with nothing his face fell. “Well, these won’t be very useful.”

“Don’t worry about it, I can just kip on the sofa,” Dan shrugged.

“Well, that doesn’t seem fair,” Phil protested. “You paid to sleep here, the least I could do is let you use the bed.”

“You were already nice enough by not kicking me out into the snow earlier,” Dan pointed out.

“Any decent human person would do that, though.”

“You’d be surprised at how few decent human people there are.” Seeing Phil’s mouth open to argue, Dan added, “How about this: I’ll take the bed tonight, and if for some reason we’re both still here tomorrow night then we’ll swap.”

“I doubt either of us are going anywhere,” Phil mused. “There’s only one hotel in town, and since it’s going through renovations I doubt there’s going to be any available rooms.”

“Then it’s settled,” Dan decided. “I’ll sleep here tonight, and you can tomorrow.”

Phil shrugged. “I guess that’s fair.” He smiled warmly at Dan. “See you in the morning.”

“Night, Phil.”

They went their separate ways for bed, and Dan changed and curled up on the couch to sleep. It was a nice couch, but there was a metal rod that cut it in half for support that hit him right on the hip, and his long limbs just barely fit on the cushions. However, easily the worst part was how cold it got so quickly. The south wall was made up entirely of windows that overlooked a beautiful, serene lake during the day, but Dan had no idea how quickly it could sap the room of warmth with the fire doused.

Dan laid there shivering and trying to fall asleep for a good half hour before the hallway light came on an a silhouetted figure stood in the doorway. Dan sat up and watched Phil come in, weighed down with a couple heavy-looking blankets and two cup of what Dan assumed was hot chocolate.

“Can’t sleep?” Dan whispered. For some reason he felt like if he dared speak any louder, something would break.

Phil smiled softly at him. “Yeah. Plus, I remembered how cold it gets in here from when I was a kid.”

Dan took the hot chocolate offered to him, and he and Phil sat together watching the snow fall outside the panoramic window. They were silent until Dan heard a soft snore from Phil. He gently woke up the other man and ushered him back to bed. When he returned to the lounge, it seemed warmer than before.

Next chapter!

Prompt me!

Buy me a coffee!

Yesterday’s fic!

[squishysnake]

Chill Season 2022: Big Run, X Battle, 13 kits

Fresh Season 2023: Eggstra Work, Tableturf PvP, new King Salmonid, new brand, 2 new Specials, 12 kits

Sizzle Season 2023: Challenges, Anarchy Open reworks, fist bumps, 11 kits

The Actual 1st Anniversary: uhh. 10 kits. spin your hat

[squishysnake]

So, amazing news: Splatnet finally updated so that you can check your total boss kills under the Work tab, where the Big Run and Eggstra Work high scores are

Abominable news: Big Shots are more fucking joever than I ever could've expected

[squishysnake]

There really needs to be some kind of punishment or Pavlovian conditioning for standing in front of teammates' bullets in Splatoon. I'm tired of people bodyblocking me when I'm trying to use Dualies' turret mode and can't even move, and them not feeling the need to correct it

[squishysnake]

let's see if any of you notice what was wrong before I did

[squishysnake]

they're really on a quest to one-up themselves with increasingly unhelpful Big Shot cannon spots, huh

[squishysnake]

[squishysnake]

[squishysnake]

oh this is a terrific and flexible combo

[squishysnake]

dude I love this new The Matrix mod for the Salmon Run: Next Wave gameplay mode in Splatoon 3

[squishysnake]

who wants to see the sickest, most totally intentional Double Drizzler Kill