#except for that one detail in his backstory

[sunshineneedsaplacetokeephernsfw]

Quinn is now my new comfort character!

Say hello, everyone!

I originally wasn't going to include that last image, but Quinn greeting Julian like that was so funny I decided to keep it

From Particles of Reality (a game that is a dark, twisted otome that is very much 18+) and belongs to @arewar

[kettlefire]

Prepare for the unexpected. (DPxDC)

Everyone knew about the reign of Pariah Dark. Even those who did not dabble in those realms have heard the tale of the tyrant. A power-hungry man who ruled over the dead with an iron fist.

Following the rise of Pariah Dark, his realm had been effectively cut off from communication. Many mystics and magic users knew better than to open the door of nightmares that could arise if Pariah Dark's reach went further than his own realm.

Except, the universe had plans to bring the realm of the dead back into the cards.

A new opponent, one that had all of Earth's heroes scrambling for options. A being with powers of a god over weather, destruction was on the horizon. A world ending threat.

It's the only reason the Justice League was doing this. In a deep bunker, far from close civilization as a precaution, the heroes looked on with grim expressions.

The world was already being threatened. It would be destroyed regardless of what the league did. So it only made sense to make the last ditch effort. To summon someone strong enough to defeat the threat.

No one wanted to do it. No one wanted to be the one to pull the realm of the dead back to the living. The consequences were untold if this succeeded. If Pariah Dark was freed and defeated the threat, whose to say he won't want control?

That was a problem for later. For the aftermath. For now, the league could only watch on with bated breath as Constantine completely the summon ritual.

They watched on as the shadows in the room seemed to darken and grow. As the sigil sputtered to life with a glow that was growing increasingly brighter. A sudden gust of wind rushed through the room, the temperature began to drop with eaching ticking second.

And then it was all gone.

The room stood perfectly still. Just as it had been moments before. Nothing changed. No giant king standing before them, no sign that the ritual worked.

The room stood deadly still for another beat before the murmurs started. The team trying to make sense of the situation, figure out what went wrong.

Constantine swore up and down that this was the correct ritual, taking offense that they would even think the problem was on his end. It only made it better when it finally happened.

A loud sound ripped through the room, pulling everyone's attention back to the summoning circle. Just in time to see a tear appear in the space above the circle.

A thin tear that ran the length of eight feet. The fabric of the dimension seems to curl at the edges, pulling back to reveal a deep glowing swirl of greens. A dark gloved hand reached through, fingers curling around the edge of the tear, stretching it even further.

A portal. The ritual had worked, but there had been a delay. A delay that had every hero nerves on edge. Each team member tensed, weapons at the ready as they watched the being stretch the portal to the right size.

Then, a foot stepped out with a heavy thud. A dark boot that looked otherworldly despite its similarity to mortal clothing. A deep black that seemed never-ending. A second foot quickly followed before a full body emerged from the portal.

Not many people in the room have ever seen Pariah Dark, let alone know what to expect. Based on what Constantine and Zatara had said, this wasn't Pariah Dark.

A man had stepped out of the portal, standing at almost seven feet tall, and built like a brick house. One glance at the glowing white hair, deadly red eyes, and shard teeth was enough to know this being was not to be messed with.

But there was no giant show of armor or royal garbs. There is no large crown at the top of his head or jewelry from the infinite realms laced around his neck.

Instead, the man stood before them in combat boots, worn-in ripped jeans, a graphic t-shirt, and a spiked leather jacket. Despite his almost normal clothing choice, the man's jacket seemed to be a never-ending depth of the dark night sky. If one was to look closely enough, the cosmos could almost be made out in the sea of darkness.

None of that would have prepared them for when the man spoke. His tone sounded more bored than anything as he took a step forward.

"Oh, so now you need the help of the dead." The man had spoken, running a hand through his hair. When Batman took a step forward to speak, the man raised a hand. Immediately commanding silence in the single gesture. "I'm on babysitting duty and have yet to have a cup of coffee. I'll be right back."

Just like that, both the man and portal vanished into thin air. Leaving behind a group of stunned heroes. Not only was the man not Pariah Dark, but he was also supposedly babysitting.

"Did that just-"

The Flash had been the first voice to speak up, his eyes trained on where the man had once stood. Except he had barely made it through the first few words before the man was suddenly back.

The man that now had a child hanging off his shoulders and another teen being held up by his scruff. Unlike the man, these kids looked human.

Too human for Bruce's liking. The dark black hair and bright blue eyes had every heroes eyes flickering to Batman for just the briefest moment.

"This isn't fair! I'm not even the king. Why do I have to be here!" The teenager had been complaining the moment the man had reappeared. Arms crossed tight over his chest and seemingly used to being held dangling. "Besides, who brings kids to a show down! Wait til I tell mom about this."

"Aw, come on, Danny. This is gonna be fun!!" The younger girl seemed in much better spirits than the teen, Danny. She had climbed up the large man, sitting on his shoulders and resting her arms on the mess of glowing hair. "It's like take your kids to work day! Ooo, Dan! Can we fight too!?"

Unlike the two kids, the man looked purely exhausted and annoyed. The man, Dan, dropped Danny like a sack of potatoes as he took a long drink from the travel cup in his hand.

It didn't take a genius to recognize the look of an exhausted parent in Dan's expression. A look many of the league members were well acquainted to. A look that even had Batman grimacing with sympathy.

"Can it, little shits. You two were grounded, remember." Dan had growled at the kids before shifting his focus back on the team of heroes before them. His glowing eyes set in a deadly glare. "Pariah Dark isn't coming, and he never will. He's been dethroned and banished. We're the best you've got."

A summoning that started with a group of on edge and scared heroes looking for the ghost king, ended in a way no one expected.

No one was even sure if it made any sense. They weren't sure if they should feel hopeful or in despair.

Because truly, what was a ghostly man with two seemingly human children against a godlike foe with the control over the weather?

The unspoken question of power and ability seemed to vanish following Dan downing the metal travel cup of coffee, and crushing it in his fist.

He tossed it to the side, straighting up his posture as he looked over the heroes. Dan might not be a hero, but he's been playing family for too long.

An almost feral, bloodhungry grin spread across the man's face, sharp fangs on full display. The look made the man suddenly look even less human. He looked closer to a demon from the pits of hell rather than the exhausted parent he looked just a few seconds ago.

"Point me in the direction of this bastard. It's been too long since I let loose and had some fun."

[chiropteracupola]

A strange dissection.

[maddymoreau]

My Thoughts on Poppy Playtime Chapter 3

Ollie is ADORABLE!!!! "No ouchies or lost body parts?" HE'S A BABY I NEED TO PROTECT!!!!!! AHHHHHH!!!!!! (¬‿¬) I have ZERO evidence for this but my theory is he’s The Prototype.

I’m REALLY happy to see the phone Ollie calls the player on is identical to the one in Project: Playtime! It’s nice seeing stuff introduced in Project: Playtime finally appear in the main series.

( ⚆_⚆ ) ESPECIALLY DR. HARLEY SAWYER!!!! WOW THE TAPE FEATURING HIM TALKING TO THE PROTOTYPE WAS DARK!!!! I knew a man like Dr. Sawyer would be a sick and twisted individual since he created the Bigger Bodies Initiative.

Despite that I was NOT prepared to hear the joy in his voice to experiment on children. It was revolting.

This exchange:

Prototype: "You stick us. Beat us. Tear at flesh. Do you feel it?"

Dr. Sawyer: "There is a secret inside you, 1006. Valuable beyond all measure. I cut and prod and burn at it, and I get closer with each session . . . So speak, or don't. Fight, or give in. Regardless, I learn something new about you every day . . . (Laughs) It excites me!"

Prototype: "Thank you."

Dr. Sawyer: "You . . . thank me?"

Prototype: "Absolutely. I learn something new about you every day."

THAT FINAL LINE WHEN THE PROTOTYPE IS MIMICKING DR. SAWYER'S VOICE AHHHHHH!!!!

＿|￣|○ I WANNA KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO DR. SAWYER SO BADDDDD!!!!!! He wasn’t around for The Hour of Joy but I hope he suffered.

Leith Pierre: "Normally I'd have Dr. Sawyer do this but he's uhhh . . . out, let's say. So you got me until they find his replacement."

(o ´ _ ` )o The contrast between how Dr. Sawyer speaks to the experiments VS Leith Pierre the Head of Innovation at Playtime Co.

Both dehumanize the experiments in different ways.

Leith Pierre can’t even bother remembering Catnap's real name. He puts on this fake friendly facade. Referring to Catnap as his Pal and Buddy. It's so disingenuous.

Especially when he asks, "Heya Theo! How ya doin' bud?" Pierre could care less about how Catnap feels. It's only when Catnap responds, "The Prototype will save us." That gets Pierre to finally drops the corporate spiel. Admitting to what this place is. Catnap’s prison.

No wonder Catnap worshipped The Prototype after being save when this is what he’s told about his horrific situation.

Leith Pierre: "THIS is your life now. Get used to it."

I absolutely LOVED all the new features for the Grab Pack. The air jet looked SO FUN!!!! Watching people desperately shoot the flare gun against smiling critters in a cramped space WAS SO INTENSE!!! The smiling critter's small growls and whimpers made me sad.

(ʃƪ 〃’▽’〃)♡ The horror in this chapter was INCREDIBLE!!!! While I had fun playing Chapter 2 I remember feeling disappointed by the scares.

CHAPTER THREE HAD ME HORRIFIED!!!! EVERY JUMP SCARE HAD ME FLYING OUT MY CHAIR, THE ATMOSPHERE WAS AMAZING AND AHHHHH THE HOME ORPHANAGE SECTION!!!!!

It reminded me of PT ∑(; °_°) Especially with the radio informing us that in Elliot Ludwig's house it was discovered he HAD THE BODY OF A CHILD IN A DUFFLE BAG!!?!?!?!?!?!

ALSO THAT ONE RADIO'S REVERSE MESSAGE!!!

"8-8-1995 I find your presence intrusive. After all this time you return. You come in here and yet you kill and murder. You pilate and destroy. Your presence was demanded 10 years ago and yet you didn't show up . . . 8-8-1995 You were supposed to be here. Why weren't you here? You missed the event. You missed the meeting. You missed the party. You have no right to be here . . ."

AHHHHHH MOBGAMES KNEW WHAT THEY WERE DOING WITH THE LIGHTING IN THIS SCENE!!!!!

I thought I was going to see MY BOY 😭💔!!!!!!

Huggy Wuggy is completely fine.

Kissy Missy was so sad and adorable in this chapter. Seeing her stare at the picture and hug herself BROKE MY HEART ( o̴̶̷᷄ _ o̴̶̷̥᷅ )!!! She deserves the world.

Catnap acting like a child and avoiding school 😭💔

Miss Delight was a minor spoiler I knew about since people used her face in their thumbnail. However I was NOT prepared for her to act like a Coil-Head!!!!

Theodore being described as antisocial and having a peculiar relationship with an imaginary friend _(:ì」∠)_.

That “imaginary” friend being The Prototype. Who guided Theodore to help them both escape. Only for Theodore to get electrocuted since he was just a child who didn't know how to safely use a Grabpack.

The Prototype throwing away their chance to escape to save Theodore by bringing him to the staff. Showing The Prototype does care in some way.

Only for Theodore to be later turned Catnap.

THEN the player electrocutes Catnap the SAME way Theodore originally received his injuries. The Prototype comes to “save” Theodore once again but this time by making Catnap a part of him AND CATNAP ACCEPTS SO WILLINGLY (˃ ⌑ ˂ഃ )!!!!

It felt like I was watching a religious experience.

I love Poppy Playtime but I do think they show too much in their trailers. Dog day is a great example but even then his scene was *chef kiss*

All the smiling critters crawling inside Dogday as he desperately screamed in agony and for us to run away left me speechless.

I liked the detail of Dogday calling us angel. I'm excited to see all the AUs people create where we save him.

ALSO THE HOUR OF JOY WAS A BLAST TO WATCH!!!!!

I know Poppy is right that it was just senseless slaughter. How all that death didn't fix or help anyone. Especially when it didn't matter if those killed were innocent or not.

However imagining these characters being painfully experimented on and stripped of their autonomy. Going though years of hell and finally reaching their breaking point. It's hard to not feel good for them getting to release that anger. Even if I know it's wrong.

ALSO I GOT TO SEE MY SECOND FAVORITE CHARACTER BOXY BOO YAYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!

THERE WAS SOOOOO MUCH HUGGY WUGGY IMAGERY IN THIS CHAPTER AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

I'M GOING TO OVER THINK IT!!!!!! I HAVE NO THEORIES I’M JUST POINTING DETAILS OUT!!!!!!

When hallucinating Huggy Wuggy's face is on the employee training video:

“Join the Innovationists, where the bounds of science are continuously pushed. Or join the Counselors of Playcare, whose diligence and care for our children will help shape a brighter future, just you see.”

“Now every one of you has your part in that future, so should you come back tomorrow feeling unhappy for where you are, or what you’ve done . . . worry not, for your supervisor is here and happy to listen! And . . . should you come back . . . years later . . . your conscience finally getting the better of you. May you descend into the dark and the dust, finding all that awaits you are incomprehensible horrors . . . each hungry for your return, each eager that they might find you. Perhaps they’d smile at you from a shadow, their smiling mouths full of teeth and meat and plastic, watching and waiting patiently for their turn at a warm welcome. Or perhaps they won’t allow you such a time to figure your place in the world you’d left. A world that’s theirs now. Welcome home.”

The video transforms into a manifestation of the player's guilt. Not only for their involvement for whatever they did while working at Playtime Co. but for being gone and returning after ten years.

This is also paired with the player's possible guilt for killing Huggy Wuggy and their fear of him.

The hallucination version being a more exaggerated version of the Chapter 1 Huggy Wuggy vent chase.

When Catnap causes the player to later hallucinate:

Poppy: “Do you even know what’s real?”

Poppy: “No you don’t.”

THEN AT THE END OF THE HALLUCINATION IT SHOWS US THE DAY OF JOY!!!! Which is very odd when you consider two things. We've been told multiple times we weren’t there and during this scene we didn't know what the Hour of Joy was.

So the player hallucinating being in front of Huggy Wuggy’s podium during The Hour of Joy with a large Prototype hand reaching for us IS ODD!!!

ALSO THE TAPE IT SHOWS THAT’S WHERE HUGGY WUGGY WAS DURING THE HOUR OF JOY!!!!!!!

WHAT DOES IT MEAN?!?!?!?!

This is just speculation but perhaps the player's memories aren't as trustworthy as we think. After all we still aren't even sure who even sent us the letter or tape in Chapter 1.

"EVERYONE THINKS THE STAFF DISSAPEARED 10 YEARS AGO WE'RE STILL HERE FIND THE FLOWER"

It’s important to point out the characters from Chapter 2 made ZERO appearance during these hallucinations. Mommy Long Legs, PJ Pug-a-Pillar, Bunzo Bunny and the Wack-a-Wuggy.

Is the Huggy Wuggy imagery used because he’s who we encounter at the start of the game?

OR SOMETHING MORE AHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

[blobbei-art]

This is an older character concept that’s not quite finished but I also haven’t had the motivation to continue working on it yet so I might as well upload it instead of letting it sit bc god knows when I’ll come back to this haha

It’s supposed to be a very light moon themed body mixed with heart (the horns looking like veins/aorta) and capillary + lace for the wings

Either way this is Marzie! Her whole story is a little complicated and still not set in stone but the idea is that she’s the original Goddess of Life and Kasifer’s twin sister who seemingly died to Kasifer’s own hands in an accident. And when she eventually returned she thought he had betrayed her. 

[felassan]

Cliff notes on the new info on Dragon Age: The Veilguard in today’s issue of Game Informer (magazine hub link):

Edit/update: I tidied up this post. ^^

---

In CC you can customize things like shoulder width, chest size, glute size, hip width, how bloodshot your eyes are, nose crookedness, and more

There are hundreds of sliders for body proportions

CC detail: “Features like skin hue, tone, melanin”

There is nudity in DA:TV, “which I learned firsthand while customizing my Rook” in CC

Rook’s backstory also affects “reputation standing”, along with the other previously-known things like in-game dialogue etc

Lords of Fortune are pirate-themed, “piratic”

Rook ascends because of competency, not because of a magical McGuffin, contrasting with the 'destiny-has-chosen you’ angle DA:I has for the Inquisitor

Rook is here because they chose to be, “and that speaks to the kind of character that we’ve built. Someone needs to stop this, and Rook says, ‘I guess that’s me'”

The 4 voices we can choose for Rook each have a pitch shifter in CC

The game starts inside the bar (as previously detailed in other coverage)

In some dialogue wheels there is a “romantically inclined ‘emotional’ response” option. These are the replies that will build relationships with characters, romantic and platonic alike, but you can ignore them if you want to. Giving a companion the cold shoulder might nudge them into another companion’s embrace however

Bellara’s surname is Lutara

In the streets of Minrathous (in the opening segment of the game), there is a wide, winding pathway with a pub which has a dozen NPCs in it (is this The Swan tavern?)

The devs used the DA:TV CC to make each in-world NPC, except for specific characters like companions

There is smart use of verticality, scaling and wayfinding in the gameplay

If you play as e.g. a qunari Rook, the camera adjusts to ensure larger characters like them loom over those below. The camera also adjusts appropriately for dwarves to demonstrate their smaller stature

Neve Gallus is described as being capable

The Venatori Cultists we fight in the opening segment of the game are seizing the chaos caused by the demons unleashed by Solas’ ritual to try and take the opportunity to take over the city

As you traverse deeper and deeper into Solas’ hideout, more of his murals appear on the walls, and things 'get more elven'. Rhodes says “this is because you’re symbolically going back in time, as Minrathous is a city built by mages on the bones of what was originally the home of the elves”

At the heart of Solas’ hideout is his personal eluvian

Demons are fully redesigned in this game, on their original premise as creatures of feeling that live and die off the emotions around them. “As such, they are just a floating nervous system, pushed into this world from the Fade, rapidly assembled into bodies out of whatever scraps they find”

In the opening, we stop Solas’ ritual and save the world. “For now” anyways. Rook passes out moments later and wakes up in a dream-like landscape to the voice of Solas. He explains that a few drops of Rook’s blood interacted with the ritual, connecting them to the Fade forever. (I guess this is why they said in the Discord Q&A on June 14th that Rook has good reasons to want to avoid blood magic)

He also says that he was attempting to move Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain (confirming who the two Evil Gods are) to a new prison, because the one he had previously constructed was failing. Unfortunately, Solas is trapped in the Fade by our doing, and the two gods are now free. “It’s up to Rook to stop them”, thus setting the stage for our adventure

Rook wakes up after this with Harding and Neve “in the lair of the Dread Wolf himself”, a special magical realm in the Fade called The Lighthouse. It’s a towering structure centered amongst various floating islands. This is where the team bonds, grows, and prepares for its adventures. It becomes more functional and homier as you do. “Already, though, it’s a beautifully distraught headquarters for the Veilguard, although they aren’t quite referring to themselves as that just yet”.

Because it was Solas’ home base, it's gaudy, with his fresco murals adorning various walls, greenery hanging from above, and hues of purple and touches of gold everywhere. Since it’s in the Fade, which is a realm of dreams that responds to your world state and emotion, the Lighthouse “reflects the chaos and disrepair of the Thedas you were in moments ago”

Clock symbols over dialogue icons signal optional dialogue options

At this point you can head over to Neve, engage in dialogue, and try and flirt with her

There is a dining hall in the Lighthouse. A plate, cutlery and a drinking chalice are at the end of a massive table. Matt Rhodes says that this is a funny and sad look at Solas’ isolated existence, and an example of the detail BioWare’s art team has put into DA:TV. “It’s like when you go to a friend’s house and see their bedroom for the first time; you get to learn more about them”

There is also a library, which is the central area of the The Lighthouse. It’s here that the party will often regroup and prepare for what’s next

The team decides that it must reach the ritual site back in Arlathan Forest. Corinne Busche said that the writer was "missing unique dialogue options here because I’m qunari; an elf would have more to say about the Fade due to their connection to it. The same goes for my backstory earlier in Minrathous. If I had picked the Shadow Dragons background, Neve would have recognized me immediately, with unique dialogue”

The team decide their next move. They go to Solas’ eluvian and back through to the ritual site in Arlathan Forest. However, it’s not fully functional without Solas, and while it returns them to the Forest, it’s not exactly where they want to go. Then a demon-infested suit of mechanized armor known as a Sentinel attacks them, and two NPCs appear to save you: the Veil Jumpers Strife and Irelin. Harding recognizes them, which you would expect if you read the comic Dragon Age: The Missing. They are experts in ancient elven magic. A cutscene ensues and we learn that Strife and Irelin need help finding Bellara Lutara. This cutscene is long and has multiple dialogue options.

“There’s a heavy emphasis on storytelling and dialogue, and it feels deep and meaty, like a good fantasy novel. BioWare doesn’t shy away from minutes-long cutscenes”

For Rook, this story is about what does it mean to be a leader? We define their leadership style with our choices. “From the sound of it, my team will react to my chosen leadership style in how my relationships play out.” This is demonstrated within the game’s dialogue and a special relationship meter on each character’s companion screen

Bellara is deep within Arlathan Forest, and following the events of the prologue, something is up here. Three rings of massive rocks fly through the air, protecting what appears to be a central fortress. Demon Sentinels plague the surrounding lands.

In gameplay/combat, players complete every swing in real time. Special care was taken in development for animation swing-through and cancelling. We can dash, parry, charge moves, and a completely revamped healing system that allows us to use potions at our discretion by hitting right on the d-pad. You can combo attacks and even ‘bookmark’ combos with a quick dash, which means that you can pause a combo’s status with a dash to safety and continue the rest of the combo afterward

Abilities can be used to customize your kit. They can be used on the fly as long as you account for cooldowns

When you pause and pull up the ability Wheel, it highlights you and your companions’ skills. There you can choose abilities, queue them, target specific enemies, and strategize with synergies and combos

Each character plays the same in that you execute light and heavy attacks with the same buttons, use abilities with the same buttons, and interact with the combo wheel in the same way, regardless of which class you select

Sword and shield warriors can hip-fire or aim their shield and throw it like Captain America

Warriors can parry incoming attacks which can stagger enemies. Rogues have a larger parry window. The mage the writer played couldn’t parry at all. Instead they throw up a shield that blocks incoming attacks automatically, so long as you have the mana to maintain it

On the start/pause screen: it has the map, journal, character sheets, skill tree, and a library for lore information. You can use it to cross-compare equipment and equip new gear for Rook and their companions, build weapon loadouts for quick change-ups mid-combat, and customize you and your party’s abilities and builds via an easy-to-understand skill tree. There aren’t in-depth minutiae, just "real numbers". For example, an unlocked trait might increase damage by 25 percent against armor, but that’s as in-depth as the numbers get. Passive abilities unlock jump attacks and guarantee critical hit opportunities, while abilities add moves like a Wall of Fire to your arsenal if you’re a mage. As you spec out this skill tree, which is 100 percent bespoke to each class, you’ll work closer to unlocking a spec, complete with a unique ultimate ability

“Sentinels and legions of darkspawn”

Combat is flashy and quick, with different types of health bars. Greenish-blue represents a barrier, which is taken down most effectively with ranged attacks

The game is gorgeous, with sprinkles, droplets, and splashes of magic in each attack a mage unleashes

The game looks amazing on consoles both in fidelity and performance modes

The mission to find Bellara is called “In Entropy’s Grasp”. You find her. She is the first companion you recruit (as Neve auto-joins). If your background is Veil Jumper, you get unique dialogue here with Bellara. She explains that everyone there is all trapped in a Veil Bubble, and there’s no way out once you pass through it. Despite the dire situation, she is bubbly, witty, and charming. She is spunky and effervescent

Companions are the faces of their factions, and in this case with Bellara, their entire area of the world. She is our window into Arlathan Forest. She is described as a sweetheart and a nerd for ancient elven artifacts, which is why she’s dressed more like an academic than a combatant. Her special arm gauntlet is useful both for tinkering with her environment and taking down enemies. While Neve uses ice magic and can slow time with a special ability, Bellara specializes in electricity, and she can also use magic to heal you. Her electric magic is effective against Sentinels. “However, without Bellara, we could also equip a rune that converts my ice magic, for a brief duration, into electricity to counter the Sentinels”

If you don’t direct your companions in combat, they are fully independent and will attack on their own

You progress at this point through the Forest, encountering more and more darkspawn. Bellara says that they have never been this far before because the underground Deep Roads, which they usually escape from, aren’t nearby. However, with “blighted” (BLIGHTED!) elven gods roaming the world, and thanks to the Blight’s radiation-like spread, it’s a much bigger threat in DA:TV than any prior DA game

The Forest has elven ruins, dense greenery and disgusting Blight tentacles and pustules

The style of the game is more high fantasy than anything in the series thus far and almost reminiscent of the whimsy of Fable. Matt Rhodes says that this is the result of the game’s newfound dose of magic: “The use of magic has been an evolution as the series has gone on. It’s something we’ve been planning for a while because Solas has been planning all this for a while. In the past, you could hint at cooler magical things in the corner because you couldn’t actually go there, but now we actually can, and it’s fun to showcase that.” The Forest’s whimsy will starkly contrast to the game’s other areas. The devs promise some grim locations and even grimmer story moments because, without that contrast, everything falls flat. Corinne says it’s like a “thread of optimism” pulled through otherworldly chaos ravaging Thedas. At this point in the game, Bellara’s personality is that thread

We can advance our bonds with our companions on their own personal quests and by including them in our party on main quests. Every Relationship Level you rank up, shown on their character sheet, nets you a skill point to spend on them. “The choices you make, what you say to companions, how you help them, and more all matter to their development as characters and party members”. Each companion has access to 5 abilities.

Each companion has issues, problems, and personal quests to complete. “Bellara has her own story arc that runs parallel to and informs the story path you’re on” (They’ve said that all of the companions have this too in previous promo material)

You progress deeper into the forest and Bellara spots a floating fortress and thinks that the artifact needed to destroy the Veil Bubble is in there. To reach it, we must remove the floating rock rings, and Bellara’s unique ability, Tinker, can do just that by interacting with a piece of ancient elven technology nearby. Rook can acquire abilities like Tinker later to complete such tasks in instances where Bellara, for example, isn’t in the party

Bellara has to activate three of these in the Forest to reach the castle. Each one you activate brings forth a bunch of Sentinels, demons, and darkspawn to defeat

You can create Arcane Bombs on enemies. It does high damage after being hit by a heavy attack

It sounds like mage characters can charge heavy attacks on their magical staffs. “then switch to magical daggers in a second loadout accessed with a quick tap of down on the d-pad to unleash some quick attacks”

Some enemies are “Frenzied”, meaning that they hit harder, move faster, and have more health

After a few more combat sections, including against a Frenzied sentinel, we reach the center of the temple. In there is an artifact called the Nadas Dirthalen. Bellara knows that this means “the inevitability of knowledge”. Before we can progress, a darkspawn ogre boss attacks, hitting hard with unblockable, red-coded attacks and a massive shield that you need to take down first. It is weak to fire

After defeating it (it’s a climactic arena fight), Bellara uses a special crystal to power the artifact and remove it from the pedestal, which destroys the Veil Bubble. Then, the Nadas Dirthalen comes alive as an Archive Spirit, but because the crystal used to power it breaks, we learn little about this spirit before it disappears. Bellara thinks that she can fix it (fixing broken stuff is her thing), so the group heads back to the Veil Jumper camp. The writer’s demo then ended.

The design of the game is not open world. The devs describe it as a “hub-and-spoke” design where the needs of the story are served by the level design. A version of DA:I’s Crossroads return (the network of teleporting eluvians) and this is how players will traverse across northern Thedas. “Instead of a connected open world, players will travel from eluvian to eluvian to different stretches of this part of the continent”. e.g. Minrathous, tropical beaches, Arlathan Forest, “to grim and gothic areas and elsewhere”. Some of these areas are large and full of secrets and treasures. Others are smaller and more focused on linear storytelling. Arlathan Forest is an example of this, but it still has optional paths and offshoots to explore for loot, healing potion refreshes, and other things.

Each location has a minimap, though linear levels like In Entropy’s Grasp won’t have the 'fog of war' that disappears as you explore like in some of the game’s bigger locations

The game has the largest number of diverse biomes in DA history

The Thedas of DA:TV “lives in the uncertainty”. “the mystery of its narrative”, “the implications of its lore”

The writer is surprised by BioWare’s command over the notoriously difficult Frostbite engine, and by how much narrative thought the dev team poured into these characters, even for BioWare.

---

[source: the Game Informer pages from Issue 367 - the cover story from June 18th (link), two]

[physalian]

Pacing your Story (Or, How to Avoid the "Suddenly...!")

Arguably *the* most important lesson all writers need to learn, even for those who don’t give a damn about themes and motifs and a moral soap box: How your story is paced, whether it’s a comic book, a children’s chapter book, a doorstopper, a mini series, a movie, or a full-length season of TV (old school style), pacing is everything.

Pacing determines how long the story *feels* regardless of how long it actually is. It can make a 2 hour movie feel like 90 mins or double the time you’re trapped in your seat.

There’s very little I can say about pacing that hasn’t been said before, but I’m here to condense all that’s out there into a less intimidating mouthful to chew.

So: What is pacing?

Pacing is how a story flows, how quickly or slowly the creator moves through and between scenes, how long they spend on setting, narration, conversation, arguments, internal monologues, fight scenes, journey scenes. It’s also how smoothly tone transitions throughout the story. A fantasy adventure jumping around sporadically between meandering boredom, high-octane combat, humor, grief, and romance is exhausting to read, no matter how much effort you put into your characters.

Anyone who says the following is wrong:

Good pacing is always fast/bad pacing is always slow

Pacing means you are 100% consistent throughout the entire story

It doesn’t matter as much so long as you have a compelling story/characters/lore/etc

Now let me explain why in conveniently numbered points:

1. Pacing is not about consistency, it’s about giving the right amount of time to the right pieces of your story

This is not intuitive and it takes a long time to learn. So let’s look at some examples:

Lord of the Rings: The movies trimmed a *lot* from the books that just weren’t adaptable to screen, namely all the tedious details and quite a bit of the worldbuilding that wasn’t critical to the journey of the Fellowship. That said, with some exceptions, the battles are as long as they need to be, along with every monologue, every battle speech. When Helm’s Deep is raging on, we cut away to Merry and Pippin with the Ents to let ourselves breathe, then dive right back in just before it gets boring.

The Hobbit Trilogy: The exact opposite from LotR, stretching one kids book into 3 massive films, stuffing it full of filler, meandering side quests, pointless exposition, drawing out battles and conflicts to silly extremes, then rushing through the actual desolation of Smaug for… some reason.

Die Hard (cause it’s the Holidays y’all!): The actiony-est of action movies with lots of fisticuffs and guns and explosions still leaves time for our hero to breathe, lick his wounds, and build a relationship with the cop on the ground. We constantly cut between the hero and the villains, all sharing the same radio frequency, constantly antsy about what they know and when they’ll find out the rest, and when they’ll discover the hero’s kryptonite.

2. Make every scene you write do at least two things at once

This is also tricky. Making every scene pull double duty should be left to after you’ve written the first draft, otherwise you’ll never write that first draft. Pulling double duty means that if you’re giving exposition, the scene should also reveal something about the character saying it. If you absolutely must write the boring trip from A to B, give some foreshadowing, some thoughtful insight from one of your characters, a little anecdote along the way.

Develop at least two of the following:

The plot

The backstory

The romance/friendships

The lore

The exposition

The setting

The goals of the cast

Doing this extremely well means your readers won’t have any idea you’re doing it until they go back and read it again. If you have two characters sitting and talking exposition at a table, and then those same two characters doing some important task with filler dialogue to break up the narrative… try combining those two scenes and see what happens.

**This is going to be incredibly difficult if you struggle with making your stories longer. I do not. I constantly need to compress my stories. **

3. Not every scene needs to be crucial to the plot, but every scene must say something

I distinguish plot from story like a square vs a rectangle. Plot is just a piece of the tale you want to tell, and some scenes exist just to be funny, or romantic, or mysterious, plot be damned.

What if you’re writing a character study with very little plot? How do you make sure your story isn’t too slow if 60% of the narrative is introspection?

Avoid repeating information the audience already has, unless a reminder is crucial to understanding the scene

This isn’t 1860 anymore. Every detail must serve a purpose. Keep character and setting descriptions down to absolute need-to-know and spread it out like icing on a cake – enough to coat, but not give you a mouthful of whipped sugar and zero cake.

Avoid describing generic daily routines, unless the existence of said routine is out of ordinary for the character, or will be rudely interrupted by chaos. No one cares about them brushing their teeth and doing their hair.

Make sure your characters move, but not too much. E.g. two characters sitting and talking – do humans just stare at each other with their arms lifeless and bodies utterly motionless during conversation? No? Then neither should your characters. Make them gesture, wave, frown, laugh, cross their legs, their arms, shift around to get comfortable, pound the table, roll their eyes, point, shrug, touch their face, their hair, wring their hands, pick at their nails, yawn, stretch, pout, sneer, smirk, click their tongue, clear their throat, sniff/sniffle, tap their fingers/drum, bounce their feet, doodle, fiddle with buttons or jewelry, scratch an itch, touch their weapons/gadgets/phones, check the time, get up and sit back down, move from chair to table top – the list goes on. Bonus points if these are tics that serve to develop your character, like a nervous fiddler, or if one moves a lot and the other doesn’t – what does that say about the both of them? This is where “show don’t tell” really comes into play.

4. Your entire work should not be paced exactly the same

Just like a paragraph should not be filled with sentences of all the same length and syntax. Some beats deserve more or less time than others. Unfortunately, this is unique to every single story and there is no one size fits all.

General guidelines are as follows:

Action scenes should have short paragraphs and lots of movement. Cut all setting details and descriptors, internal monologues, and the like, unless they service the scene.

Journey/travel scenes must pull double or even triple duty. There’s a reason very few movies are marketed as “single take” and those that are don’t waste time on stuff that doesn’t matter. See 1917.

Romantic scenes are entirely up to you. Make it a thousand words, make it ten thousand, but you must advance either the romantic tension, actual movement of the characters, conversation, or intimacy of the relationship.

Don’t let your conversations run wild. If they start to veer off course, stop, boil it down to its essentials, and cut the rest.

When transitioning between slow to faster pacing and back again, it’s also not one size fits all. Maybe it being jarring is the point – it’s as sudden for the characters as it is for the reader. With that said, try to keep the “suddenly”s to a minimum.

5. Pacing and tone go hand in hand

This means that, generally speaking, the tone of your scene changes with the speed of the narrative. As stated above, a jarring tonal shift usually brings with it a jarring pacing shift.

A character might get in a car crash while speeding away from an abusive relationship. A character who thinks they’re safe from a pursuer might be rudely and terrifyingly proven wrong. An exhausting chase might finally relent when sanctuary is found. A quiet dinner might quickly turn romantic with a look, or confession. Someone casually cleaning up might discover evidence of a lie, a theft, an intruder and begin to panic.

--

Whatever the case may be, a narrative that is all action all the time suffers from lack of meaningful character moments. A narrative that meanders through the character drama often forgets there is a plot they’re supposed to be following.

[venus-haze]

You're My Best Friend (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: Homelander was a test tube baby, raised in isolation in a cold, clinical lab. But that doesn’t inspire America, does it? Vought tasks you with creating the idyllic backstory for its hero, and what starts as a limited comic run spirals out of control when Homelander himself demands your help in making the story a reality.

Note: Gender neutral reader, but no other descriptors are used. Based on a request by @crash-and-cure as well as a bastardization of one of the sweetest love songs ever written (sorry, John Deacon!) This got kinda meta? Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, I guess some gaslighting on Homelander’s part? Do not interact if you’re under 18.

When Vought hired you to create their long-awaited Homelander origin comic series, you were thrilled—until they gave you so little information about his childhood to work with, you weren’t even sure you could come up with one comic, let alone the ten they requested. The details about his childhood were minimal, not even a full printed page—a loving mom and dad, played baseball, did well in school, strong sense of justice from a young age, his friends called him “Johnny.” Your requests to meet with Homelander so you could get some stories from the man himself were constantly denied.

You almost considered dropping the project, until you decided to throw caution to the wind and pull from your own childhood and set it in good ol’ generic suburbia. Some of the storylines were based on your own experiences or things that had happened to people you’d grown up with, though you changed enough names and details to not link it to anyone in particular. Except yourself, of course. Using a pseudonym professionally meant you felt no need to change your own name in the comics. Sure, making your cooler fictionalized self Homelander’s childhood best friend was a bit self-indulgent, but no one would know, really.

To your relief, the editors at Vought loved your ideas, making minor changes before bringing the storylines to their comic artists to bring it to life. The result was Finding Homelander: A Boy’s Journey To Be a Hero. The issues flew off shelves when they were first released, ironically praised for their relatability and authenticity. Vought extended your contract, asking you to produce the cartoon adaptation and another ten issues.

Still, in all of that, you’d never met Homelander. A representative from Vought emailed you to let you know to tune in to his interview on a talk show one day, saying that he’d be talking more about the cartoon project on it. You recognized the host, Tracey, always chipper and having some extravagant giveaway for her audience members. Daytime TV was never your thing, though.

“I think what resonates with so many people is how relatable your childhood is,” Tracey said, holding up a copy of Finding Homelander issue #3, where he saved ‘you’ from getting hit in the face with a baseball at one of his games, catching it with ease. It’d been the happy ending to a short storyline of him struggling to find his place on the team and you encouraging him to not give up. “You and Y/N were pretty close, do you still keep in touch?”

“You know, Tracey, not as much as I’d like, unfortunately. Adulthood can be so busy, you need to cherish those childhood memories,” Homelander said. “I did give them a call when the comics first came out, and wow, the laughs we had over those old antics of ours. Talk about a walk down memory lane!”

You guessed the bullshitting was all part of the promotional circuit for Homelander. Knowing this childhood of his was your own fabrication, you couldn’t help but wonder what else about him was fake. Maybe he wanted to maintain his privacy, you could certainly understand that. You couldn’t shake the voice in the back of your mind that said it wasn’t so simple, that the narrative Vought pushed was a cover to hide something in Homelander’s past.

“Now, I’ve heard rumors of a cartoon show based on the comics in the making, is this true?”

“It is! I’m excited for this project, getting back to my ‘roots’ so to speak. I’ll be voicing myself, of course, but it’s funny you’d bring up Y/N, because they’ve agreed to voice themself, too.”

“How fun!” Tracey exclaimed over the roar of the talk show crowd’s applause and cheers. “I guess this is the hopeless romantic in me, but I hope this reconnection leads to something a little more. I’m just a sucker for childhood sweethearts!” 

Homelander laughed along with the host’s giggles, “Well, you never know.”

You balked at the television, mouth agape. Surely he couldn’t be talking about you. ‘Y/N’ could be anyone with your same features. Vought had probably hired a professional voice actor for the role and were pushing the authenticity angle. The whole situation felt odd. 

When you checked your work email again on your phone, you nearly dropped it on the floor. 

SUBJECT: Meeting with Homelander This Week

The email contained a list of days and times throughout the week wherein Homelander would be free, apparently wanting to meet you to thank you for the success of the comic series and discuss upcoming work. Yeah. That last part you sure as hell wanted to discuss too. You responded with the soonest time available, in a meeting room in Vought Tower the following evening. As soon as you hit ‘send’, you wondered what exactly you were getting yourself into.

Anticipation filled your gut as you went about your day leading up to meeting the supe himself. What would he be like, really be like? Was there even a version of Homelander that wasn’t hopelessly manufactured for the masses? You knew then that his upbringing was a lie, and thus stood the probability that so much else was, too. 

When you stepped into that meeting room, you hadn’t been expecting his face to light up at the sight of you. 

“Homelander, hi, it’s great to—“

“No need to be so formal, Y/N! You can call me Johnny, just like old times,” he said cheerfully, in on a joke you clearly hadn’t been aware of.

“Sorry, Johnny,” you said, playing along. “It’s great to see you again.”

He pulled you in for an unexpected hug that you returned. “Figured we should catch up before things really start getting crazy, don’t you think?”

You nodded, your nose brushing against him as you did so. Just as your lips parted to offer an apology, he smiled, shooing away the assistant who’d accompanied him out of the room. 

He sat down, motioning for you to do the same.

“Gotta say, I’m a fan of your work,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said. “I’m not sure I understand exactly what’s going on, though.”

“What’s there to understand? I’m not allowed to know more about my best friend, our lives together growing up?”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Wasn’t hard for me to put two and two together, but considering everyone else around here has their head up their asses, they have no idea,” he said, before lowering his voice conspiratorially and giving you a charming smile. “I haven’t told anyone. What’s a secret between friends?”

You nodded, overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention on you. “What do you want to know?”

He sighed, resting his head on his hand. “Everything.”

So you told him. Not quite everything, of course, but enough to abate his curiosity. At least for the time being. His interviews were sharper, more specific with details rather than rattling off whatever had been in the comics. You watched in shock as convincing photos of his Little League days were posted to his social media accounts, anecdotes provided by his increasingly frequent conversations–or more like interrogation sessions–with you, but in his style, of course. It was almost scary what the graphic design team at Vought could accomplish, not that you’d ever know how, exactly, as they were all under the same strict NDA that you were.

He started spending more time with you, too, and after a while, it did seem like you were old friends. Part of you flinched whenever you called him Johnny, because Johnny wasn’t even real, but with your complacency, this fabrication was slowly morphing into a strikingly tangible memory. With each conversation, he drew you deeper into the world you’d been paid to create for him until you found yourself slipping up.

You’d been showing him a goofy stuffed monkey on your desk, a cute little thing with big sparkling eyes. A prize for getting two out of three at the ring toss. Probably spent more money winning it than it was actually worth, but it was about the effort, the memories made.

“You remember, don’t you? You won it for me at the county fair,” you said without thinking.

He laughed in agreement, as if he actually had. Except he hadn’t. Your high school boyfriend won it for you a week before graduation. Sensing the mood shift, he set down your prize and looked at you with the same intensity he had when you first met.

“It’s been a while since we were there, huh?” he said. “Why don’t we go back?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Go where?”

“Home.”

With a strong arm around your waist, he took off for your hometown. You could hardly tell which way was up or down, he was flying so high, but he didn’t seem to mind the way you clung to him at all. When he finally landed, you recognized the community baseball field where all of his fictional games were set. 

“Geez, it’s like nothing’s changed,” he said cheerfully.

You looked at him in disbelief. How long was he going to expect you to go along with it? Or maybe the question you should have been asking was, how long were you going to enable him? The end wasn’t anywhere in sight as he took your hand, and you walked him through your childhood, further enmeshing him in it until you arrived at the house you grew up in. 

The middle of the day, no one was home, and so you let yourselves in like you owned the place. Suddenly, the house seemed too small for a man like Homelander to occupy, but he was engrossed in the details of it. He scanned the kitchen, no doubt inspecting the contents of the fridge and cabinets with his x-ray vision. Moving onto the living room, he stared at photos on the wall, the magazines and DVDs that were strewn on the coffee table, giving away your parents’ taste in entertainment.

“Which one was your room again?” he asked.

You swore you could feel his breath on the back of your neck as you wordlessly led him to your room. Each step down the hall felt dangerous, as if you were about to walk into a trap. Face-to-face with the closed door, you opened it, standing aside while Homelander looked around, from what you had hanging on the walls to the knick-knacks you’d left behind.

An uncomfortable tension settled over the room when Homelander closed the door of your childhood bedroom. An odd blend of hurt and amusement spread across his face as he observed the way you were eyeing him, body ready to fruitlessly run from him the way a rabbit would a hawk.

“C’mon, after how long we’ve been friends, I would never hurt you,” he said, as if reading your mind. “We’ve been through so much together. I mean, we were each other’s first kiss.”

You froze. Issue #9. That was something Vought’s editors had added, claiming a romance angle would make the series appeal to the younger female demographic. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time.

He slyly backed you into the wall, leaning over you as you slinked down the slightest bit.

“Show me how we did it,” he whispered, his hand caressing your cheek. “So clumsy and nervous, I can even feel you…quivering.”

“Homelander, I don’t know what you’re—“

He tsked. “Y/N.”

You let out a shaky breath, “Johnny—“

He hummed in satisfaction. “It’s alright. I know it’s been a while.”

You let him kiss you, sweetly in a way that put your actual first kiss to shame. His lips were soft against yours, his tender movements intentional as he cradled your face, pulling you the slightest bit closer to him when you kissed him back. 

A sense of familiarity settled over you, warm and comforting like pulling a blanket out of the dryer on a chilly evening. Every time it seemed like you were beginning to overthink the situation with Homelander, he drew you back in with the kiss, a more than effective distraction until you pulled away with a dazed smile on your face.

[eureka-its-zico]

Chaos in Their Bones: Wanted

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: After the defeat of Arlong, at Arlong Park, the five of you promised to yourselves, and each other, to achieve your dreams on your way to the Grand Line helping Luffy search for the One Piece. It seems simple enough, except for the minor detail that you died. Coming back from the brink of death, Zoro and the others have noticed you haven’t been the same. You aren’t sure if it’s Death himself chasing after you or something far more sinister. But facing your inner demons won’t be the only fight you’ll have to worry about when family comes calling. 

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Genre: established relationship, idiots to lovers, angst, mentions of smut, (will add stuff later) it’s an adventure, y’all!

Words: 6.3+

A/N: Hello my darlings! It is I! Your resident clown! I hope you are all doing well!! Finally, I have finished the prologue to my version of One Piece filler. I am so incredibly excited to share this with you guys while we wait for the next season of OPLA to arrive! I’m even more excited to share in this journey with all of you. This first chapter is pretty heavy and gives a brief backstory to what took place in season one with CITB, just in case anyone comes in reading this one first.. I’ll always do my best to make sure there are proper warnings in place for each chapter and, if I ever happen to miss one, please let me know. Now, let us properly get on with our new adventure.  As always, I hopeyou all enjoy this! Much much love, Jenn

p.s. shout out to @deadneverlander for always being my clown bestie and the bestest editor-in-chief

Warnings: mentions of previous torture, trauma, and gore

Chaos in Their Bones Master List

It was odd how the body adjusted to change before the mind realized what was happening. How Zoro could barely remember when he’d strictly stopped thinking of just singularly him and began to think about them. The one specific goal he’d carried with him his whole life - an armor that entombed him - suddenly no longer held the same weight as it had before.

Zoro was part of a crew now. It felt unbelievable when he thought about it, but he wasn’t a part of just any crew.

Zoro was a part of Luffy’s crew - his first mate. 

Kuina always told him he needed to lighten up. Get some friends. If only she could see him now. A band of misfits who’d become family. 

(Except for the waiter. Zoro still wasn’t sure about that guy.)

That one word, family, bounced around the inside of his skull, shattering every ounce of the solitary life he still tried to hold on to. After Kuina died he used their promise for a solid reason for his loneliness. It protected him - shielded him from having to go out and be a part of the world. While others thought he led a lonely life, Zoro believed it was simply a life free from distractions. A life centered around one goal,  a promise, and that didn’t allow room for error. 

And then everything changed the minute a boy in a straw hat stumbled on him tied up in a yard. Zoro recalled how instantly he’d found Luffy annoying; a pest. A nuisance in the form of gangly limbs and possibly too much leg, until Luffy asked him one simple question: “Is that all you are? Is that all you want?”

It surprised the hell out of him when he’d considered answering him. It surprised him even more when he did. Luffy didn’t laugh when Zoro told him, either. Instead, he listened and looked at Zoro like it was more than a possibility. Anything felt possible when you were with Luffy. The words spilled out of him with such conviction he was sure they could raise Kuina from the dead. He wasn’t sure why he’d even answered Luff. Once he did there was no denying his words had solidified a belief in Luffy that Zoro’s dream wasn’t just a possibility, but that Zoro would succeed in doing it. 

The only person who’d shared in his dream believed it would become a reality the harder they trained, had been Kuina. Sharing your hopes and dreams with another person was one of the deepest connections you could inadvertently make. Suddenly, just from sharing a few words, your entire being was stripped bare. Open for everyone to see down to the very marrow of your bones who you were and, because of this, Zoro didn’t share lightly. He couldn’t risk someone laughing at him or telling him he never stood a chance. 

The Demon Pirate Hunter would burn the heavens down if it meant he could get what he wanted.

So, Zoro waited for Luffy to laugh in his face. To try and curse his spirit along with his dream. Instead, Luffy believed just as vehemently as Zoro believed in himself. The possibilities were endless. One distraction - addition - to his life was something he could handle. 

Then Zoro stumbled upon you and having just one more distraction didn’t seem all that bad.

 Suddenly, being the world’s greatest swordsman wasn’t all he wanted. 

He wanted you too.

The universe seemingly conjured you into existence - a magical pain in his ass. The more he’d tried to deny his feelings, the more annoyingly louder they grew. If fate was real, it had a terrible sense of humor - reminding Zoro a little too often that even the best-laid plans carried detours.  

Neither of you was willing to admit that the universe seemed to be playing a cruel joke. The universal bingo card the two of you carried, chock-full of goals and aspirations, and not a single mention of…well, not a mention of either of you were on it. 

Zoro didn’t believe in fates. Magical beings who dictated your future and the outcomes of your life and the supposed powers they wielded in who entered and left. He could be incredibly stubborn. You called him hard-headed. He just liked to think of it as knowing what he wanted. The universe proved to beat him at his own stubborn game, however. He’d been a fool to try and reject what everyone saw, but Zoro and you…the two of you felt it. 

Falling in love with you had been as easy as breathing.

He tried to deny it for so long - his tunnel vision widening just to catch glimpses of you - bright and warm and alive to cast sunshine into the hollowest parts of him. The ones he’d left empty ever since Kuina died. He protected himself from having to feel that overwhelming feeling of grief again. No matter what anyone said, it never got better. It didn’t get easier. You just slowly learned to live with the empty space their loss created and, because of this, Zoro never allowed people to get too close. 

His drinking kept him languid and carefree.  

Zoro didn’t believe in magic. 

It wasn’t in his nature to believe in things he couldn’t see - couldn’t feel their weight in the palms of his hands to make or break his world. The very idea of magic alone was the biggest unseen force he could think of. But when you looked at him, cheeks rosy with a blush he gave you, he swore he’d become a believer. The world was brighter, anything was possible, and the stars in your reflected a constellation of every step you’d ever taken that led you to one another.

He didn’t think it was possible for his world to shift - to change - all over again until that night in your room. 

Zoro stood there paralyzed - transfixed. Cool, remain cool were the words that darted through his head but how could he? He’d spent all day endlessly teasing you. Every chance he got to bump against you, shamelessly removing his shirt just to feel the hunger of your gaze slid over his skin, or to dip his hands low, impossibly lower, was a chance he had to take. Just to make your cheeks flush that pretty pink hue that was just for him. 

He wasn’t an idiot. He didn’t miss the heat that shimmered underneath. How could he miss it when he’d felt it too? The pleasure in knowing he was the cause for every heavy breath that rose in your chest. Pupils blown wide and body preening at his touch. No matter the breath that stuttered out of you or the looks you gave, Zoro remained in control. 

Perfect. Control.

Until he’d opened his door to find you covered only in a towel, droplets cascading down your skin and those eyes - god your eyes - looking at him like that. 

Cool. Play it fucking cool. 

He’d repeated it to himself over and over. A mantra that wasn’t much of a mantra because he was failing miserably. Even after he admitted he’d been waiting to hear you make it safely back to your room. He would’ve left it at that - teasing you one more time to have that good ol’ blush of yours see him off to bed. But then his eyes caught the way your hands protectively tightened on the towel. 

The way you self-consciously hide the worst of the damage that Arlong - that fucking fishman - and his men had done. You tried so fucking hard to make everyone believe you were okay. The wounds on your body practically all but healed, while some were slowly beginning to show they’d remain as scars. He worried that you’d see yourself as less because of it. How could he get you to see that your scars were beautiful because those scars meant that you were still here. With him. 

But Zoro knew the scars that plagued you the heaviest were in your mind. 

You thought you were less because of them but, god you were so much more because of them. And suddenly, hiding inside the safety of his room didn’t matter anymore. 

Zoro had to show you - make you understand - how remarkable you were. Arlong and his men could never take away the way his breath still caught - trapped and frantic - in his throat every time he looked at you. You’d been doing it since that first night at Kaya’s: his eyes held prisoner as his gaze helplessly followed your every move.

Even when you were a brat and stole his glass of wine.

He didn’t think it was possible for the feelings that brewed behind the safety of his walls could get worse. To overwhelm and flood his senses until what little common sense he had left evaporated completely. 

He was wrong. 

That night, Zoro learned the only thing prettier than your blush was the sounds you made. Just for him. 

Always for him.

He knew everything changed that night in your room. And how could it not? The desire to touch you, show you with his mouth, his body, all of him, every piece of himself that you’d claimed, just how much you were a part of him. How deeply you’d woven yourself into the fabric of his being, hollowed out his bones, and made a home. 

There was an unmistakable connection Zoro felt towards you. It was something new that he’d never felt. He didn’t know what to call it. Love? How could one word seem to hold so much weight? The power to plant flowers in the garden of his rage or completely shatter it. There was no fucking in between and that was frightening. 

Fucking terrifying

Zoro couldn’t formulate words to describe the invisible teether that coiled around you both. Or the fear it created. A terror like a serpent that constricted tighter and tighter around his heart, more and more with every passing second. If Arlong could take you. If he could…you almost…

No no, don't fucking think it! Don’t speak it. 

The reality was it could happen again. 

The fear of someone taking you - hurting you -  became all too real. 

He’d almost lost you. 

Zoro would never admit to it. Say it out loud or allow it any space during his waking day. But when he was asleep the fear threatened to slip through his control. It formed itself into nightmares that painted out every outcome that could’ve happened in vivid detail. Painted in tragic detail into the whites of his eyes on how close he’d come to saying goodbye. 

Save me… pirate hunter…

He had saved you, hadn’t he? 

That day haunts his waking hours even now. It’s what wrestles him awake even with your head tucked underneath his chin, his arm draped across your back, and the steady beating of your heart pulsing against his chest. He’d arrived busting through Arlong’s gate with Luffy and crew, his breath caught in his throat not knowing what they’d find. 

What greeted him was the last thing Zoro thought he’d find. Your body, crucified, arms painfully splayed to make a perfect T shape. Gore. It was the only way his mind could describe it - screaming at him not to look. You were a decorated gory masterpiece. All the light and sunshine of who you were was dimmed in a blanket of blood. The stench of burned flesh clung to his nose the way the taste of chopper lodged itself in the back of his throat. 

You seemed so lifeless. So fucking lifeless. Zoro felt his knees threaten to give out on him in seconds. You couldn’t be alive. It shouldn’t have been possible, but he listened as the chains chimed at your movement. A fucked up wind chime of dread and hope that carried on the wind and told him all he needed to know. 

You were alive. 

Zoro could still save you. With that knowledge blacking out all reason, Zoro created hell inside the walls of Arlong Park. He would do it over and over, becoming a demon, a king of monsters,  to burn down the world if it meant saving you. 

And yet…it almost hadn’t been enough. 

There were times Zoro wondered if this is how you felt as you watched him give himself up to Mihawke. He could still remember the look of agony that bloomed across your face. The way it stole the spark Zoro loved to see in your eyes, bleeding them dry until all that was left was an emptiness that he gave you.  

Zoro had willingly gone to death. 

And you saved him. 

You cared for him even then - when he didn’t deserve it - after everything he’d done to try and prove to you, and himself, that the universe was wrong. It was just a sick joke to believe that fate itself had woven you both from such different clothes to somehow make each other whole. Zoro gnashed his teeth, swore, and fought his own demons to try and prove he didn’t need you - want you - but he’d been a goner the second he opened the guest room door. 

Plus, it didn’t hurt that you packed one hell of a punch. 

Zoro could still feel your knuckles connecting perfectly on his nose. The impact of it shocked him so hard it’s what caused him to lose his grip on the well. It was a damn good hit. 

He’d woken up to the emptiness of a bed Zoro shared with you. In the privacy of the cabin you both now called home, Zoro would admit dread tied his stomach in knots. That it spurred his legs to swing over the edge of the bed and his hands to furiously move around the room looking for clothes. All thoughts he used to have about pretending he wasn’t looking for you - searching for you - when he always had been, dissipated with his next breath. 

Even still… Zoro had almost died and came back more or less himself. Deep down, however, In the dark recesses of his mind, a nagging voice reminded him endlessly that something was… off. Something was wrong. 

Wrong with you.

Zoro hated that he even entertained the thought. In the privacy of his own head, it still felt like a betrayal. A dishonor of the trust you’d placed with him. He tried to knock the thoughts away because now wasn’t the fucking time. You were missing – again – in the middle of the night. He had to find you but no matter how hard he knocked away the nagging thoughts of growing questions, the voices persisted.  

Nami was the first to notice, which wasn’t surprising. She was always carefully crafting plans and backup plans with backups to the backup plans if those fell through. Zoro came to understand the second they stepped into a room, that Nami was twelve steps ahead of everyone else. Her eyes scanned the room for marks - the weakest links in the chain of command - so that was why it wasn’t surprising, not in the least, that Nami noticed the oddities about your recent behavior first. 

“She’s doing it again.” “Doing what again?” Every time Nami brought it up, Zoro couldn’t keep the irritation from shifting heavily in his tone. The annoyance at throwing around large sacks of grain that the waiter just had to have turned his mood even more sour. More than the fact Usopp somehow magically disappeared from having to help load all of this below deck.  Zoro followed Nami’s gaze until it landed on you. A hand wrapped around the rope of one of the sails with your eyes turned out towards the sea. Zoro imagined a passing ship would think you were a statue the way you barely moved. Shit, he even started to worry if you were even breathing. Unlucky for them, this wasn’t the first time you’d started doing this. Your eyes focused out on the ocean, almost as if you were searching either the water or somewhere farther.  “She’s just looking at the waves.” “No,” Nami replied, a shake in her head reflecting the word. Just the one word alone held a lifetime of worry as her eyes cautiously watched your head tilt. A motion that spoke volumes of words being carried on the wind and you were listening. “It’s like she’s hearing something, or someone, speaking.” “Yeah, it’s the sound of the birds above us. I think they’re called seagulls,” Zoro shot back.  Zoro didn’t know why he needed to protest their concerns so much. Zoro had his own but when it came to you a protectiveness he couldn’t fathom seized every last available brain cell. Their words sent his body immediately to defend you even though Nami’s concerns only voiced the ones he was too afraid to say himself.  His words earned him a glare from Nami as she moved next to him. A hand playfully smacked his shoulder, but her eyes never strayed from you.  “No, you asshole, not the birds. It’s like someone is… talking to her.”

Zoro had thought Nami was crazy. She had to be. You were fine. She was just being a protective mother hen again, which she’d promised you she wouldn’t do anymore. The look on his face must have said the same thing causing her eyes to narrow in on him all before her chin jutted out towards your direction. He wanted to call Nami crazy, but when Zoro glanced back at where you stood, your head was cocked further to the side. Your lips parted, eyes focused, like you were about to reply. 

A few days after that incident on the deck you began talking in your sleep. It started off as grumbles and grunts until it graduated to lazy words and, finally, short sentences that burst from between your lips in reply. Sometimes though, the voice that came out of you… it didn’t sound like your own. The words hissing and breaking from your lips in jagged whispers that raised the hairs on the back of his neck. 

The worst part was, if Zoro asked you, you’d never remember or know you’d done it. Zoro had promised to save you, and he had. So, why did he feel like he’d been too late?  

And that thought alone is what startled him awake. 

Zoro finally located a pair of pants that he’d thrown haphazardly in his earlier haste to get into bed. Your scent was still pressed into the sheets - pressed into his skin. It was enough to inform him you’d been there beside him. He hadn’t been dreaming - not that he would since you’d both agreed that him sleeping over in your room just made sense. 

He didn’t bother putting on his boots. The only thing he made sure to grab was the Wado Ichimonji that rested on his side of the bed. You’d strictly forbidden him from sleeping with it in the actual bed after you woke up with the hilt pressed against your ribs. 

The sheets had long since gone cold and that told him wherever you’d gone, it’d been a while since you’d left. Zoro wasn’t known for having tact or being quiet. If he was being honest, Nami often called him a brute and she wasn’t incredibly far off. He didn’t have any plans to quietly walk out of the bedroom or make his footsteps dainty soft like a whisper. He didn’t have time for pleasantries. 

He didn’t bother wasting time looking for you in the kitchen. There had only been a handful of times he’d caught you bravely traipsing around the waiter's kitchen. Banging his beloved pots and pans around like you had a death wish. Zoro wasn’t too keen on hearing him bitch later about the sanctity of a man’s kitchen and his utensils after Sanji had caught you. Zoro was, however, willing to admit the food you’d prepared that night tasted a thousand times sweeter knowing Sanji would be having a heart attack about it later. 

No. By now, Zoro knew there was one place and one place only that he would find you. 

With the swaying of the ship under his feet, Zoro made his way towards the stern. The Wado clutched tightly in his fist in a weak attempt to keep him grounded. He ran a hand through the mossy haphazard strands of his hair in hopes of soothing its messy state but knew he was only making it worse. His fingers tugging too violently like he could rip his thoughts out by the roots. 

There was nothing he should be worried about - you were fine. He was going to walk up those stairs and find you just enjoying the night breeze. It was what he needed to see because he didn’t know what to say if he didn’t find you standing there. How he could fix it if you weren’t admiring a view; waiting to share whatever was on your mind. 

One by one he released his hair from his fingers. The ache of his scalp was enough to help focus him back into the present. To ground him just enough for when his eyes finally landed on your frame. 

You weren’t standing at the edge of the stern, safely behind its railing like he imagined, or admiring the view of the midnight water. Instead, your legs were precariously over the side of the Merry. So painfully close to the edge that one wrong move, a simple shift in the wind or the way you were sitting, and you’d simply go over. 

An image of you going over, a sudden flash of your body disappearing into the darkness below, sent his steps widening, eager to reach you. To close the remaining distance between you, as if it would ever be enough to keep you there.

His bare feet thundered loudly across the remaining feet that were left between the two of you. The heavy thumping scraped away whatever chance he had at catching you off guard. The sound alone should’ve been enough to draw your attention but when he arrived at the edge of the banister, one hand holding on to the ashen wood while the other curled around your shirt - his shirt. After all this, you still hadn’t acknowledged him. 

Your eyes were locked on a horizon of midnight - obsidian, endless, with promises of nightmares etched out of brimstone lying underneath. Your head tilted, just like before, just like it always was, listening to something none of them could hear. 

Zoro wasn’t much of a praying man, but he found himself silently making one as he sucked in a breath. 

“It's a little late for a midnight stroll, don’t you think, Snowdrop?”

You weren’t surprised Zoro found you. 

You knew he would. Since the minute you woke up in bed curled up beside him, an arm tucked behind his head while the other draped itself loosely over your shoulders, pressing you closer, that once you left he’d be up. Maybe not right away, but it will happen. Gradually or all at once. 

Even in his sleep, Zoro searched for you. His fingers stroked the curve of an arm; swirling into the crease of an elbow. His nose buried itself in your hair or the sensitive spot just under your ear. Zoro searched for you as vigorously in his sleep as he did while he was awake. 

You expected him to come find you. It wasn’t a surprise when the sound of padding feet on cured wood imploded the silence you’d come in search of finding. His presence was unforgiving heat across your skin. Unspoken questions hanging between you. A part of you prayed he would ask them. Another part of you hoped he didn’t. 

Maybe that was the voice that made you wish he hadn’t found you. That Zoro had stayed blissfully asleep enjoying the blanket of restful sleep instead of the restlessness of whatever you now had to offer. The thought gnawed on your nerves, brewing an annoyance that soured the comfort you’d found looking into the vast darkness of the waves. 

During the day, everything was bright and inviting. The sea most of all. Its multitude of hands that rolled against ships and overlapped wave after wave to create a white froth was a silent beacon to come explore. It promised relief from the scorching heat of the sun and an endless supply of food to fill a starving sailor. Underneath all of that brightness, however, you could feel the darkness that took shape in the form of monsters underneath. Sea beasts that swallowed entire ships with crews. Sirens seducing men and women from their beds with a song - pulling them screaming, lungs heavy with water, down into the deep. 

It was this darkness that began to call to you. A disease that infiltrated your body slowly, without warning so as not to cause alarm, until it completely plagued every sleepless hour. You weren’t aware it’d been happening until the third night you’d woken to the spray of the ocean on your face. You found yourself standing on the rail of the ship. The threat of a harsh wave possibly sending you over was imminent. Yet there you stood, your arms splayed out at your sides, waiting for an embrace that hadn’t come. Yet, when you opened your eyes it wasn’t terror that turned to ice in your veins. You knew the ocean wouldn’t claim you.

It couldn’t. 

You didn’t belong to this graveyard. You belonged to something else. There was a power that resonated below the murky depths. A force that felt ancient and terrifying. It felt like it created the dark; and devoured it until it became whole again and again. It writhed and moaned like the damned, as it searched for more life, more souls, to devour and own. This blackness demanded worship like an old god and that same darkness was what called to you now.  

You weren’t sure what you were supposed to be: a sacrifice or a sacrificer. But one thing was clear. Whatever it was, it was inside of you and it was calling you home. 

Naan strived to make sure she was careful - that you were careful. She shared warnings in the forms of stories and fairytales as a child to soften the terrifying meaning that lay underneath. All this time she painstakingly put in to make you understand and, in the flash of a second, it took less time for you to choose Nazifa’s life over your own. 

It’s what Naan had taught you to do: protect others. How could she ever think, or believe, that you made the wrong choice? How could you regret saving someone’s life? Saving people was who you were, who Naan raised you to be, down to the very marrow of your bones. 

Naan’s trade was never forced on you. She never held you back from thoughts of going to school, leaving the island, or if you wanted to learn a different trade. It was always very clear it was your choice to spend hours in the garden and in the forest scrounging for ingredients. Your choice in agonizing over the creation of your book of remedies. It felt natural. Your whole purpose is wrapped up in easing the pain of the dying and the chill of the sick. 

But this darkness…it touched what was yours. It cascaded oil thick, blackening the seas of your memories. The shared dances in Naan’s kitchen as she taught you how to move across the floor, ‘like a young lady’. The spring in her gardens, surrounded by bergamot and cardamom. 

Every last memory of joy and hope and happiness was suffocated until the only thing left were nightmares. This darkness – this sickness – writhed under your skin. It changed who you believed you were, who Naan loved and cared for you to be, and stripped it all away. 

Brick by brick every belief you held was knocked loose and replaced by something grotesque; vile. It whispered ways to silently kill those you loved aboard the Merry. Townsfolk and villagers whenever you stopped for supplies. It slithered black chords of strength in your muscles, seizing your hands to tear apart and break dressers. The doorknob to Luffy’s room completely caved in as you struggled and fought to not take that final step inside. 

The voices were growing louder with each denial you gave them. Each life you refused to take - each villager you saved instead of maimed - turned them rabid. The whispers grow into shrieks:

Belladonna to strip a man of pride and the air from his lungs - closing up his throat with froth and screams. Mosswood burns the mouth and twists the gut making them turn liquid.

‘We can break them. Grind their bones into dust. Lay it like powder on our skin. Let us make them putrid! Skin soft and pliable like pudding - flesh that caves at the touch. One touch from us, from you, OUR TOUCH,  and we can rot them from the inside out. Listen as their tongue turns liquid and they gurgle liquid sweet! Let us rot them! LET. US. ROT. THEM!’

It whispered and screamed until you thought you would go mad. It took every ounce of willpower you struggled to hold on to your sanity. Not to claw at your ears. As if it would ever be enough to make the whispers just stop. 

Something inside you came back wrong. You were wrong. You thought about the possibility that you might be imagining it. This call of chaos - of sinister dread - swirled inside of you like a whirlpool threatening to suck everything down around you. The more you tried to ignore it, the louder it grew. The voices were no longer murmuring - their words were convoluted - gargled as if held underwater. 

Now they were screaming, demanding to be heard, and they were always the loudest when you were sleeping.

You were so lost, so completely lost, consumed with your thoughts, these fucking voices, that you weren’t sure when your body turned to face him. Maybe Zoro had asked you a question or been asking questions. The usual mask of careless indifference he wore was there, but it was easy to spot the worry that etched itself into the fine lines around his eyes. 

His brow creased, drawn tight, which reflected the dark panic that was pooling to the surface in his eyes. If you didn’t answer him soon he was going to shake an answer out of you. Just to hear something. 

What could you say? 

“Do you hear them too? They’re whispering for me to do things and the more I ignore them, the more their fingers seem to dig holes in my mind.”

No. 

You couldn’t ask him that. It sounded crazy. You would sound crazy, and maybe you were. This whole thing felt like a waking nightmare. You thought you could keep it at bay as you attempted to work through it. There had to be a scientific explanation for something like this or at least a psychological one.

Death came to claim you. You’d felt the clutch of cold hands eager to drag you away, drag you down into the earth kicking and screaming. It felt greedy. Excited. 

But you came back. 

Maybe this madness was a form of penance. Maybe this truly was what it was: madness. 

You couldn’t look at him anymore as you tried to swallow the bitter truth down. Underneath, however, you knew you lived in a fantastical world where boys were made of rubber, Devil Fruits existed, and so did magic. 

But what did that make you? You with your voices of chaos. 

Death bringer, They whispered, clamoring against your skull. 

What if the part of you…the dark part Naan always feared would consume you, festered like a cordycep eating its way through your soul until there was nothing left? What if it ate and ate until you were just…gone? The only thing left was an imposter who’d taken your place.

The thought was enough to make your mouth desert dry. Your heart clamoring against the ribs in your chest demanding for you to take it back! You weren’t being eaten starting from the soul and outwards. You were in control. Perfect control. 

“I’m okay.” The words croaked around an unused throat forcing you to clear it and try again. “I’m okay.”

“Who are you trying to make believe that? You? Or me?”

When Zoro looked at you, like he did now, all the world grew quiet. The sound of the ocean, her waves, and the lapping at the hull of the ship all died away. It was harder to catch a breath, the air denser somehow, as everything came grinding to a halt. 

The only thing that mattered in this moment, in every moment, now and always, was the way he looked at you. But the moment didn’t last - it couldn’t - when the current underneath your feet began to pound against the hull of the ship. A seismic rhythm that vibrated through your body in earth-shattering ferocity. 

You looked out across the water around you and found her unchanged. Her waves thrashed at their own speed to collide against the Merry before they rested back down into the murky midnight of the water. 

“Zoro, do you feel that?”

The need for confirmation that it wasn't just you who felt this primal call was palpable. You grasped at whatever reasoning made sense but there was none. A sharp sting on your fingertips brought a hiss of pain from your lips. Your eyes darted down to find that same inky blackness that had burned the flesh of the face of the fishman like acid was crawling up your arms. You tried to swat it away as a fresh flood of panic gripped you. 

“Zoro!”

Your eyes flew up to look for him beside you. You wanted to reach for him - you needed him to hold onto you - but if you touched him would you hurt him? Would you kill him? 

Fear and panic constricted your throat turning your next sentence into a delirious garble of words. All attempts at civility and calmness ended when your vision centered on his body next to yours. Zoro was covered in the thick black ink - your darkness. You heard the sizzling of muscle and tissue melting away. The wet sound of flesh hitting the deck. You watched as a piece of his cheek, the top of his eyelid, slid down his face as his hand reached out for you. 

“It’s going to be okay, Snowdrop.”

The horror of what you were seeing grabbed a hold of your throat and worked the earlier sounds free. It knocked them back down to be digested to allow them to come back up at something brand new. 

A scream housed from despair and grief tore through your body and released itself there on that deck. A panicked heart filled with regret left you shattering into a million pieces and it wasn’t until you were sitting up in bed, thrashing around in the sheets of your shared bed, that you realized it was all just a dream. 

Your eyes bolted open but the frantic terror that left your heart thundering in your chest was still there. It made you search the room like crazy, grasping for things that were real. 

Zoro was standing by your desk. His hands fastened the last button of his shirt while a cool set of eyes watched over you. It was then you felt how your body was coated in sweat; your hair clinging to your neck and cheeks. The shirt you’d worn to bed sticking in thick hot clumps against your skin. 

“What happened,” you rasped. 

Zoro finished with his shirt but didn’t make a move to answer. The Wado was secured at his hip and you watched him drop a now free hand onto the hilt. A comfort you could only assume he needed as he showed no immediate sign of replying. 

After a long pause, Zoro let out a sigh as he moved towards the bedroom door. 

“I found you sleepwalking on deck. Again,” he replied. His voice was all smoke and velvet. It should’ve brought you comfort hearing him, but it wasn’t hard to notice the cracks that formed around his words. “This is the eleventh time you’ve woken up screaming, Doc.”

“Zoro–“

“After we get supplies at our next stop I’m asking Luffy if we can turn around.”

He spoke to the door. The decision he was making seemingly cost him his own grief as your own. You threw the sheets back. Your legs scrambled to make it over the side of the bed before he could completely exit the room. 

“Turn around for what?”

You wanted to sound tough, demanding even. Instead, you just sounded small. Scared. Your mouth dried up around every word, every sentence, you tried to formulate. The sick idea that he was trying to say goodbye, to let you go, making it damn near impossible to even breathe around a thought. 

“To find someone willing to give me some answers.”

Zoro didn’t wait for you to reply with the usual weak promise of telling him. It was only when you were ready to share and that could be never. He was tired of waiting and didn’t bother to wait to hear an even weaker response before Zoro walked out the door and quietly shut it behind him. 

As always, thank you all so much for reading! Reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated.

Taglist: @honeyoru @oneandonlyizabelle @shanshan4143 @naomihatake @tombraiderjones2505 @illusory-segurity @hippieele @nadlx33333 @fancifulrealist @litlebruh @jonnelpunk

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Professor Miguel O’Hara x Reader Headcanons

Warnings: University Professor Miguel, Implications of Smut, Age Gap, Secret Relationship, Teacher’s Pet Reader, Academic Manipulation, Coercion, Abuse of Power, Miguel Abusing his Spider Abilities for Nefarious Purposes, Slight Yandere Miguel, Implied Obsession, Minor Spoilers for Miguel’s Backstory, Extra Yandere Headcanons, Forced Kissing, No Pronouns Used for Reader Except ‘You’.

Miguel knows it’s wrong to want you in the way he does. You’re his best and brightest student, after all — his magnum opus: his academic pride and joy.

Problem is, that appreciation for your work ethic and your eagerness to take heavy loads of work (and eventually heavy loads of other things) charmed him. Sure, he could label you asa kiss-ass, a teacher’s pet, a sycophant, but ever since the first day he met you, he can’t help but feel your concern for him is genuine.

You always ask him how he’s doing. Every class, without fail, you stop off at his desk on your way to your seat and ask: “How are you doing today, Mr. O’Hara?” Followed by questioning some inane, specific detail he told you off-handedly a day or week prior.

You always remembered the little details. Something even Miguel finds trouble with doing; what, with his extracurricular activities as Nueva York’s one and only Spiderman.

The fact that you’re kind to him, a luxury Miguel had long since lost along with his family, strikes a chord with him.

He’s not sure when his platonic appreciation of such a hard-working student turned to something more — a rogue daydream into the lewd — but once he started, he couldn’t get enough.

Something about your unspoken submission to him – your, dare he say, desire to perform just for him, led his mind and his morals astray, left much room for interpretation and experimentation.

Choosing to believe you liked him — like-liked him — made a brand of pride bubble in his chest that he couldn’t abandon, couldn’t find a potent enough alternative to.

He starts shamelessly, yet restrainedly, flirting with you. In his own way, of course.

“I loved your paper on the configuration of water molecules and their behaviour when observed; very enlightening stuff.”

The way your face would light up, your eyes crinkling while a small, almost relieved laugh escaped you, made his chest flutter.

He thought it was pride. How little he knows for a science professor.

Eventually, this escalated into him asking you to do things for him he “Wouldn’t ordinarily ask a student to do.”

He smiles at you, eyes deceptively kind behind his slender glasses, as he watches you so intently listen, hear, for his commands.

He wonders what other things you’d do — how far you’d really go, stretch yourself (as he hopes you’d let him) — for a good grade and a positive impression.

He has a secret weapon that he knows will work on you, regardless of how momentous the task.

“I’m trusting you because you’re my favourite student.”

There it is. The activation phrase. Your heart rate quickens, your pupils blow wide and he can feel, hear, the blood rush to your cheeks as his confession settles in.

He can expect whatever it is he’s asked you to do to be complete before the time he’s set for you to do it. And all because of your eagerness to prove that you’re worthy of such a title as ‘favourite’. His favourite.

Truly, though, you are his favourite.

He feels his heart prick and his eyes search for you whenever the door to the lecture hall opens.

Only once were you unable to come to class, rendered bed-ridden by the flu, and Miguel’s heart sank.

He thought at first it was because he didn’t have your adoring eyes following him, trailing his every movement, stroking off his ego with how furiously you’d type on your laptop, take everything he said and burn it into your memory with laser-life efficiency.

But, as the lecture drew to a close, Miguel felt…concerned about you. Your well-being.

A dangerous emotion.

He cared about you. More than just an academic plaything, a task donkey; he wanted to visit you, to care for you. In ways he knew only he was capable of.

During his surveillance of the city that night, he paid you a visit as Spiderman.

Nothing so overt as to make himself known to you; rather a sideline visit as he watched you through your bedroom window.

Truly, your physical state reflected how monumental your illness was; you lay in bed, unaware of the world around you as you slept, nose tip red and eyes ringed.

He wanted to come in, to tuck you back under the blankets you’d thrashed yourself free from, to check your temperature, to be with you.

He leaves, hand coming up to the glass, wishing to breach it — and all the rules — to see you.

But alas, the next time he sees you is in class a few days later when you’re fully recovered.

As you sidle into your seat, lecture hall (uncharacteristically) devoid of Miguel, your friends lean in to tell you all that you missed.

Though, to your surprise, it’s not academic material they’re covering.

“He kept looking over here while you were gone,” came one friend, smiling. Knowing.

“Yeah,” chimes another, leaning in even closer. “And he didn’t sound like he usually does — he sounded…” They look for the right word, term, eyes sliding upwards as if the answer lay heavenward.

The cogs click, they look at you, pointing.

“Disheartened!”

Of course, your friends knew of your admiration for Miguel, often construing it as romantic attraction, but their jibes never went past a joke – purely satirical. After all, practically every student fancied Miguel.

But, that was the first indication you’d seen that Miguel didn’t just view you as another of his students. Though, you hadn’t seen the other warning signs.

Not that youd knwo this prior to dating him, but Miguel gets unbelievably hard when you call him ‘Mr. O’Hara’. Or, even better, ‘Sir’.

Something about the way you look up at him beneath your lashes, eyes filled with the desire to please him, to get on his good side and undertake any task he set for you, was akin to him having full control over you — academic and otherwise.

It just reminds him of how much power he has over you; for the first time, he feels that he has control over the elements and objects around him — an agent of fate rather than being a subject of it. 

That, coupled with his secret identity as Spider Man, sends him on a power trip that often leads him to relieving himself of his growing burden in the privacy of his own four walls, your name laced between the groaning, the panting, the moaning; the only comprehensible instrument in his orchestra.

And, when you eventually start dating, he takes his frustrations out on you.

He makes low, raspy threats when he wants something.

“I’ll lower your grade,” he says, sliding his belt from the loops of his trousers.

The blood draining from your face, your widened stare, your mouth dropping open, make his pants feel tight. Tighter. Goosebumps erupt across his skin.

“Or,” he offers, folding the belt and holding it by the ends. He slaps the belt’s body against itself, sending a crack through the room. You flinch.

“You can be a good little student and earn your grade.”

‘Earning’ often ends with you panting and red and wet, while Miguel watches you between half-lidded, reddened eyes, contact lenses long abandoned, his true nature no longer an enigma to you.

Unfortunately for you.

Extra Yandere Headcanons:

Once you discover Miguel’s true identity, both as Spiderman and a monster, you can never leave.

And not just because you’d be endangering both yourself and him if you ever told anyone.

Miguel, quite simply, cannot live without you. And the thought that you would try to escape him is, despite his intelligence, baffling.

His delusion has blinded him, made him privy only to any positive opinion of him you may have, ignoring your reservations. Invalidating them.

If you ever do make the mistake of trying to leave, Miguel knows he cannot let you have the chance of making it again.

“Can’t risk you getting out, Darling,” he says, placing the finishing knots on the threads of his neon web, keeping your arms constricted behind your back. It’s nigh-impossible to breathe; the likelihood of you breaking your ribs against the pull of the web a certainty rather than you managing to burst it open with any manoeuvre.

He kneels before you, taking your cheek in his hand.

With fleeting defiance, you pull yourself from his grasp, only to see him bear his teeth, fangs and all, and growl. His hands snake about your cheek, your throat, and pull you to him.

“No-one will ever love you like I do,” he rasps. Before you can anticipate, his lips are on yours, parted, tongue lapping at the inside of your mouth. You squeeze your eyes shut, knowing better than to bite him.

His iron grip on your wrists from last time still haven’t healed.

You daren’t close your eyes for fear that doing so will leave you any more vulnerable than you already are.

Only when he’s breathless does he pull back, eyes half-lidded and gleaming. You can tell he’s angling for something more in the way his hand drops to your shoulder, his eyes sweeping across your collarbones.

But, luckily for you, the two of you know he can’t indulge in you just yet. Not while he has you bound in his basement and a class of students awaiting his arrival.

“I’ll be back for you later,” he says, still panting, forehead pressed to yours. His smile, once pointed and serpentine, is incongruously soft compared to the current circumstances. His lips gentle as he presses a kiss to your forehead. His eyes shimmer with a tenderness that often overtook him in moments of great need – of great “love”, as he’d characterise it.

With a tight, embrace, he parts from you. His shirt is an almost blinding white against the light pouring in from the hallway, the basement door now wide open. He retrieves his glasses from his breast pocket, slips them on. His eyes are unreadable, coloured brown with contact lenses which seemed to conceal his inhumanity from all except you.

“Sit tight, Sweetie,” he tells you. And you are plunged once again into darkness with only the dim glow of his web to accompany you.

And, just like the good, obedient student you are, you obey. For you have no other choice.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

[sriracharocks]

Tom Riddle Headcanons

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

possessive

like, VERY possessive

gets frequently jealous when you talk to boys (because"no one gets to enjoy what's mine")

not really into PDA, reserved in public (except hand holding and the occasional show-off that you're his by kissing you in front of everyone every now and then)

can't get his hands off of you in private

motivates you to study ("my girlfriend must also have the best grades in the school")

is quick to anger but calms down at your soothing caresses

loves it when you hug him but would never admit it out loud

knows about all of your little bodily imperfections and loves them

remembers every detail about you (yes, even the backstory behind the scar you got as a kid when you fell off the slide)

rough in bed, but can be gentle if you ask him nicely

appreciates every thing you do for him, no matter how big or little

would wage the next Trojan War for you if you're not in his line of sight

puts poison in your enemy's pumpkin juice in the Great Hall during breakfast ("your enemy is my enemy too")

always finds time for you, no matter how busy he gets with his ambitions to conquer the Wizarding World

[descendant-of-truth]

Y'know, it occurs to me - Movie!Sonic has a lot more in common Shadow than any other version of Sonic that I know of, and that creates a unique storytelling opportunity that wouldn't have been possible before.

Because originally, Shadow having a dark and traumatic backstory was what separated him from Sonic. Their similarities came out more in their confidence, their playful attitude, and even their withdrawn demeanor (though Shadow's is more extreme). Sonic's genuine ability to be carefree and optimistic was his biggest difference from Shadow.

In the movies, Sonic is... not nearly as put-together. Just like Shadow, his personality is shaped almost entirely from the result of tragedy. Both of them had to watch their closest family member get shot trying to save them from raiders (who were specifically targeting them for their powers) by sending them to Earth. The difference here is that, for Shadow, this event is fresh in his mind, while Sonic's had ten years (give or take) to accept what happened and move on.

Except, there's more, because losing Longclaw is itself not the main thing informing Sonic's character - it's the fact that he spent those next ten years in near-total isolation. Also similarly to Shadow, he took the last words his family said to him very seriously, and she told him to stay hidden no matter what. Combine that with the natural fear of what being found did to Longclaw, and the majority of Sonic's life has been spent hidden away, looking out at the world but unable to participate in it.

Remind you of anyone?

(I swear if the movie doesn't make a point about this parallel specifically I'm gonna lose it)

Normally, Sonic is a silly and upbeat character because that's just how he is by nature, and the feelings he keeps to himself are rarely detrimental to his health. In the movie universe, Sonic is silly and upbeat because he needed to be that way in order for his life to be bearable.

His constant chatter isn't quirky for the sake of it, it's a habit he developed out of necessity because there was no one else to talk to. He compulsively needs to fill the silence because not doing that would only reinforce how alone he was, and it's something he can't shake off even when he's not by himself anymore. His primary method of handling his feelings is to ignore them until they literally explode out of him with lightning firing everywhere.

All of this to say, a Shadow meant to be a foil to this Sonic is going to look very different from the Shadow we're used to. From what little about the movie's events have been described as of writing this, I'm inferring that Shadow's actually going to be a lot more open about his motivations for revenge than he was in the game, and that puts Sonic in the very interesting position of being more closed-off than Shadow.

Because sure, he might try to connect with Shadow's pain like he did with Knuckles. But because Sonic and Knuckles's history was so directly connected, they didn't really have to... talk that much about it. Sonic could acknowledge that they both lost their families a long time ago without having to go into detail about it or the aftermath. And because it had been so long since it happened, it was a lot easier for them to put it behind them and move on.

Shadow can't do that, because for him, Maria was lost very recently. He's not going to accept "you can move on and find new people to care about" as an option, and Sonic can't very well tell him to just ignore it like he did, either. Shadow isn't going to do the whole repression shtick.

For the first time, getting through to Shadow may just depend on Sonic being able to acknowledge his own pain, first. After all, how's Shadow supposed to interpret Sonic, if not as some random guy with a perfectly happy family and an obnoxiously happy attitude telling him that he needs to just, get over what happened to him? How can that come across as anything but naive and shallow without understanding how much Sonic suffered to get to this point?

(It's still a little naive and shallow even with that in mind, but the reason for that isn't because he has no perspective on what experiencing a violent tragedy is like - it's because his only known way of handling it is to leave it in the past and Not Think About It)

Though I do wonder if there's room for Sonic to initially clam up on his emotions even more after meeting Shadow for a bit? Like, he learns to some extent what happened, and is like "aw jeez if this is what could happen if I let myself be more upset about my lot in life then I REALLY need to reign it in" which is the exact opposite lesson he needs to learn but would be really interesting to watch

Point being, I think Sonic and Shadow are being set up as even more like mirrors to each other than usual, and I can't wait to see what they do with that potential

[shinynewboots]

Listen to your Heart: Adam x pregnant!reader

AN: Lol I enjoyed writing this wonderful prompt for @madmiriam! I wasn't sure exactly what direction I wanted to take with this but fluff felt the most appropriate (lol all it takes is one comment though for me to write a pt 2 with smut bc I lowkey can see the vision now). I hope y'all enjoy! The prompt kept getting away from me so I tried to reel it in as much as I could so please bear with me lol

Warnings/tags: Pregnancy, reader's death/graphic details (backstory), cursing, guilt, sickeningly sweet fluff, slice of life, no beta we die like Adam

Note: S1 and S2 refer to the heart sounds heard in a normal cardiac cycle (think lub, dub).

Part 2 (18+)

You had never given much thought to how your second "life" would turn out. Avoiding exorcists on extermination day? Sure, that was to be expected. Working the same job you had worked when you were alive? Eh, that made sense, the hospital you worked at when you were alive was basically hell on earth most days.

Falling pregnant with a fallen angel's baby? Absolutely not.

You had freaked out a bit at first when you found out. You had been a doctor for fuck's sake. You should have been smarter. Except for the whole "being dead thing", which you assumed meant reproduction was off the table. Which it was, in most cases. Except for—

"Angelic Sperm," Adam said when you told him you were pregnant.

"What?" Of all the things you had expected him to say, this was not it. You had expected him to grow angry or childish, as you had known him prone to doing.

"Angelic Sperm." He repeated again, giving you a curious look.

"Adam you can repeat that all you want but that doesn't mean I know what you're talking about."

"Angelic Sperm. I think that's the only way for a sinner to get pregnant in hell. I mean, think about it, Princess of Hell is technically half-angel, half-sinner. And you've got sinners fucking all the time without getting knocked up. Come on, Y/N, weren't you a doctor?"

Adam scratched his head in contemplation, taking in this new information. You looked over at him in anger.

"I tell you I'm pregnant and all you can talk about is sperm?"

Adam looks over at you, a calm look on his face. He takes you into his arms, more gently than he ever had, and pulled you close to him. He kissed the top of your heard, his lips lingering far longer than they normally would.

"I'm so fucking excited, Y/N."

And so now you found yourself 5 months pregnant in Hell. You had begun to wear baggy clothes to not show your swollen stomach. You couldn't imagine what some sinners or overlords would do if they found out there was actually a way to get pregnant in an otherwise barren wasteland.

Adam had been very attentive to you in your pregnant state. You still had to work at the local hospital, trying to get in as many shifts as possible before the birth. When you'd gotten of work, Adam would always have some kind of food craving awaiting you, and together you would rot on the couch until it was time for bed and the day to start all over again.

There was one such time of rotting that you had found yourself lying on the couch beside Adam, on of his hands dropped across your waist and a hand lightly holding your baby. Baby, which Adam had begun to affectionately call "Little Hellion", was kicking happily in against your bladder.

You grimaced at the sensation, your body tensing against Adam. Sensing your discomfort, he kissed your forehead and pulled you tight. "Living up to your name, Hellion."

"They get it from their dad," You replied, your breath becoming more even as Hellion decided to turn their kicking attention elsewhere. Adam rubbed circles around your stomach, which seemed to appease Hellion.

"What are we going to do about after? I can't even imagine trying to raise a child in Hell, constantly on edge even more than usual." You finally asked, a question burning in the pit of your stomach for months. Hell was no place for a child. Would the baby even age? Sinners stopped aging from the moment they died. The Princess of Hell aged, though slower than a human would, but you didn't know what that meant for your baby. And other sinners would notice if they aged. Questions would be asked...questions that would be dangerous to answer.

Adam sighed and ran a hand through his soft, brown hair. "I've been thinking about that too. I think we need to go to the hotel."

You turned to look at him, your brow furrowed. "The Hazbin Hotel? Where you got fucking murdered?"

Adam laughed without humor. "Fucking insane right? And it's such a lame-ass place. But, I have to think about my family. You and Hellion are my family now, Y/N."

Warmth spread throughout your chest, Adam's confession taking you by surprise. He was rarely so vulnerable with you, mostly choosing to hide behind his mask of bravado and masculinity. You smiled at him. Hellion seemed to approve of his words as well because you received a sharp kick in your side.

"I think we should try and see if Hell Princess' redemption plans are even worth a shit. And even if they aren't, she, or Hell forbid fucking Lucifer, might have a better shot at getting in contact with Heaven than I do."

"Heaven? You want us to try and get into Heaven?" You shivered at the thought. You felt...dirty. Unclean. Unworthy of redemption. You had been sent to Hell for a reason and felt you would always serve your sentence.

"We have to try everything, Y/N. I...I have to try everything." Adam looked desperate, his golden eyes shimmering in a way you had never seen.

Adam kissed your forehead and continued rubbing circles around your stomach. He began to softly sing a Rolling Stones song you couldn't remember the name of.

And that was how you found yourself at the front door of the Hazbin Hotel, face-to-face with Lucifer of all people.

"Ooh, not sure if there are any rooms left in the inn. Might have you stay in the stables. I'm sure we have a manger or two for your convenience."

"I'm sorry, are you seriously making a Jesus joke right now?" You deadpanned as you stared at the King of Hell with an unamused expression. You had a hand on your stomach and you could feel Adam tense beside you.

"Get the fuck out of our way, Morningstar, your kid told us she would meet us here."

"Daddd!" Charlie yelled, running closer to the group at the front door. "I told you to let me answer the door!"

Lucifer at least had the grace to look sheepish. He moved behind Charlie, who happily welcomed you and Adam inside.

She grinned at you as she led you both to your room. "Congratulations by the way! So sorry about my dad, he always likes to try and push Adam's buttons."

"Fucking pussy," Adam muttered. You shot him a glare. "Stay away from him as much as you can."

"And ugh, Congratulations by the way! Adam told me all about it when he came to meet with me about you both joining the hotel! This is so exciting! And we have so many crafts and exercises and —"

"Hey, one fucking step at at time, Princess." Adam interrupted, sensing you tense at Charlie's words.

Charlie nodded and looked at you apologetically. "Sorry, I just get a little over-excited! We are so happy to have you here."

You smiled up at her softly. "We really appreciate you for letting us come to the hotel."

*

That night, you both lay in bed in your new home as you began your paths of redemption. Your head was on Adam's chest and you listened to the constant beat of his heart. Listening to the beat of the heart or pulse had always had a calming effect on you, even when alive. S1, S2, S1, S2, S1, S2

"Adam what if you get redeemed, and I—I don't. And I ruin everything. I don't deserve to be in Heaven."

"Why would fucking think that, Y/N. You deserve it more than anyone I know." He asked, his voice full of surprise.

"Because I killed someone!" You exclaimed, tears rolling down your eyes. "I was stupid and I killed someone and now I am meant to rot in Hell for all eternity. And I've damned our kid to this."

Adam wiped one of the tears that had begun to roll down your cheek. "And you don't think I have? Do you know how many sinners I've killed? Happily?"

"Adam, it's different."

"Try me."

You swallowed hard. "I was coming off of a 24-hour shift at the hospital. I was so tired. So fucking tired. And I knew better than to drive home. But my apartment was just 20 minutes away. And I thought it would be okay. I could have slept for an hour or two in the on-call room but I was so ready to get home."

Tears began streaming down your face at full force. Adam pulled you closer, surprisingly silent. "And then I fell asleep behind the wheel. I was only a mile from my house. I crashed into another car that had a mom and her kid in it. They died on impact. I was still alive, just barely, and bled out in my car before EMS could arrive."

"Y/N, you made a mistake. Fuck, I've made even more than that, definitely worse too."

"I just don't think I'm worthy of heaven."

Adam kissed your forehead and continued to hold you close. "Most of those fuckers who make it to Heaven aren't worth even half of you. You deserve Heaven. Shit, you owe it to yourself and Hellion to try."

"I'm just so scared Adam."

"I know. But we will take this one step at a time. Trust me, babe." He put a hand on your stomach. That had been one of his favorite things to do since the early days of your pregnancy. And Hellion seemed to know when their father was near, as you would get what you assumed were happy kicks in the direction of Adam's hand.

You nodded, cuddling in closer to him. One of his wings furled around you, creating a blanket for you and Hellion. You felt safe; warm. More so than you could remember feeling in a long time.

Everything would work itself out. And you and Adam would be redeemed just in time for Hellion to be born inside the pearly gates.

You found yourself focusing on Adam's heart once more.

S1, S2, S1, S2, S1, S2

Everything would be okay. It had to be.

[quirkle2]

so one thing i rly like abt mob psycho (shocker !) is that the Incident between the kageyama brothers is kept entirely contained. like, most other shows—at least ones that i've watched—feature long monologues of characters traumadumping to other characters, sometimes in the middle of fights, and while that Does happen a lot in mob psycho, the kageyama bros never do this abt The Incident, and i think that's a fascinating choice bc The Incident is the entire reason why the show starts in the first place. it's the reason mob meets reigen at all, it's the reason mob doesn't fight back against teru, it's the reason ritsu goes through his character arc. it is arguably the Most Important Story Beat and the show has countless opportunities to let the characters spill their guts on screen for drama, and yet neither of the brothers let this spill. neither of them talk about it, except with each other

there's been numerous times i've watched shows where people suddenly traumadump and tell their life story unprompted when truly not a single soul asked, but with mob psycho, both the bros are Constantly berated with questions on Why they do these things; Why are you so off-putting and quiet, Why do you not use your powers, Why won't you fight back, Why do you want psychic powers so badly, Why are you ruining these students' lives now that you have them, Why are you helping me defeat my evil dad . all of these questions eventually loop back around to The Incident, and yet neither of them ever let it slip. neither of them Ever share, and the only time they come anywhere close to it is in the wd arc

it is the event that Shaped Who They Grew Into, and yet it is not known by the main cast at all. teru has no idea, even reigen doesn't seem to understand the full extent of it, even though The Incident is what caused mob to come to his office. their parents prolly don't even know

idk, i just think that's a good detail. the brothers both hold the weight of their troubles close to their chests. and even though that makes it seem as though they figure it out on their own, it couldn't be further from the truth

their own experiences with the people around them allowed them to grow and make mistakes and learn from them, all without sharing their deepest secret, and then both took those new experiences and lessons and applied it to this issue, and learned Again

meanwhile, the rest of the cast is largely clueless abt this Entire issue. it's Crazy to me that most of the cast has no idea what the main issue is, and i think it's a brilliant choice. these characters helped the kageyama bros without ever meaning to or knowing about it, no matter how big or small the role. you truly never know what somebody else is going through !

and even in the end, it's not like there's a big reveal that tells every character the kageyama brothers' Tragic Backstory. nobody fucking knows, still. like Yeah they should totally talk this out and go to therapy or smth but i just like the fact that the story doesn't treat it as some dramatic fanfare for Other Character's Shock Value and doesn't let them air their troubles to the ends of the earth. i appreciate that

[cobaltperun]

OOOH ive been waiting for this one. can we get some soft bottom!sam smut with a top!reader (gn or fem, both is okay) where sam is insecure and isnt used to not being in control, but r shows her its okay and takes good care of her 🤭

for a backstory (if you want to make it longer with more depth and don't have any ideas for the backstory) r and sam have been together since tara and sam moved to new york & r saved her and tara, but got hurt in the process.

obviously you dont have to take this request if youre uncomfortable! either way, i still love your content and hope you stick around this hellhole of a site :)

You're Safe

Bottom Sam Carpenter x Top Female Reader (Request) (Smut - minors do not interact)

Masterlist

Word count: 2.7k

You finally managed to get inside the old theatre by breaking one of the windows. You heard gunshots and while you weren’t all that familiar with Ghostface, you just weren’t all that into horror, though you did hear about Woodsboro killings. Even when you met Sam you wanted to give her a chance to open up to you at her own pace instead of searching for details on the internet. But even you knew Ghostface wasn’t known for using guns.

Your adrenaline skyrocketed, and your sense of self-preservation apparently vanished, because you were running in the direction the gunshots came from. You didn’t even know if Sam or Tara were alive, and you hoped both of them were because if something happened to Tara, and Sam survived she would never forgive herself.

“Come on Sam, you better be okay,” you should have went in with her, if you were already going to break in, you should have tried harder to convince her. Another gunshot made you run faster and you barged into the huge open area filled with glass cases and the big stage with Ghostface figures on it. There was a movie playing, but none of that mattered, Sam was holding Tara over the fence as some guy swung his knife beneath Tara’s feet.

You rushed forward, tackling the man at the cost of getting the knife deep inside your guts as Sam shouted your name and then it all became hectic.

~X~

You grunted, the smell of medicine hit you like a truck, you always hated that smell. Yet, here you were, in the hospital, recovering from three stab wounds to your guts. “Damn, I’m so happy Tara killed that fucker,” you grunted as you tried to sit up.

“Hey, easy, don’t move so suddenly,” you heard Sam rushing to your side and helping you sit up as you finally opened your eyes and looked at her in utter shock.

“Sam? Why are you here?” you asked and her face fell at your question. Shit, that sounded so wrong. You smacked your forehead. “I meant here instead of with Tara, not here as in I don’t want you here. It’s just that you should be with Tara,” you fumbled over your own words desperately trying to fix your mistake.

It seemed to work as Sam looked at you, a soft smile sneaking onto her face. “You don’t hate me?” she asked fearfully, and you hated hearing her like that. Sam was strong, she feared nothing except losing Tara, and hearing her afraid right now, over something like this made you wish to hold her close and never let her go, never allow anything to hurt her again.

“Sam, hey,” you opened your arms and encouraged her to come closer, and though reluctantly she hugged you, her head resting on your chest as she listened to your heartbeat. “I could never hate you, none of what happened is your fault,” you kissed the top of her head as you held her closer and softly combed your fingers through her hair.

“You saved Tara from a serious injury,” her voice wavered. “She’s with Mindy, visiting Chad, by the way,” she told you.

“She saved me as well,” you remembered trying to stop the knife from reaching your throat when Tara came in and kicked the man, Ethan, away from you and slit his throat. By the time she helped you up to your feet because it still wasn’t over Sam and Bailey fell down and you and Tara rushed to Sam.

Sam opened her mouth to speak, but before she could the doors of your hospital room opened and you both looked back, startled, at Tara and Mindy standing there.

“Well, well, well, Sammy can’t resist her cute girl,” Tara teased with the biggest shit-eating grin you’ve ever seen on her face.

Sam blushed and jerked away from you, hitting you stomach by accident. “Shit, Y/N!” she exclaimed when you winced and clutched at the still recovering wound.

“Damn it, Sam, we were teasing, don’t kill her to hide the evidence, poor girl,” Mindy scolded your girlfriend and you somehow managed to raise a thumbs up.

“Still alive and kicking,” you grunted just happy that Sam didn’t reopen the wound. “It takes me back actually,” you nudged Sam with your elbow and found some satisfaction in her face getting even redder.

“I’ll see you later!” she stormed out, and though it hurt, you had to laugh at how embarrassed she got. “Tara, Mindy, come on!” she demanded before the two girls could interrogate you on what you meant.

You just waved at the three of them and lay back on your bed when the doors closed.

You’ve been living in New York for two years now, and you’ve been in your current apartment since about a year ago when the guy living there moved away for a better job. You didn’t think that would lead you to eventually meeting Sam. A bit over half a year ago you were just coming back from work when you saw a beautiful, tall woman going down the stairs. She just drew you in, right from the start. Eventually you started talking and while it began about as casually as it could you and Sam managed to build something solid despite sneaking around and acting like a couple of teenagers.

It didn’t stop you from falling for her, for her fierce protectiveness over her sister and friends, for her kindness hidden behind the walls that needed to be studied, even though they were completely understandable given everything that happened to her. And well, she did flip you over once when you made the mistake of trying to sneak up on her once. In your defense, you had no idea about her involvement in Woodsboro at that point, it was still very early in your relationship and you didn’t think she would just go and throw you down and twist your shoulder. She apologized profusely for that and told you bits and pieces about her life. There were still things you didn’t know, but you pieced enough things together to get the more or less nearly full picture.

And damn, that was the day you discovered you had a thing for a woman that could kick your ass into next week and that what you had was actually really serious.

~X~

About a month since Bailey and his family tried to kill Sam you were lazing around in your living room, just listening to music and chilling with a warm cup of tea next to you. There was a knock on your doors and you damn near wanted to pretend you weren’t home, because you were cozy and didn’t feel like leaving your blanket behind, but maybe it was something important so you groaned, decided to act like a responsible twenty-eight years old woman and got up.

And you were glad you did because you found an annoyed Sam in front of your doors. “Tara and the twins want an apartment to themselves. I, apparently, worry too much that they’ll get a cold by studying on the floor,” she grumbled.

“Well, come on in,” you grinned, pulling her inside and kissing her on the lips. She moaned, her hands gripping your shirt as you pushed her against the now closed doors. Sam opened her mouth as you slid your tongue over her soft lips. You missed this so much, you wanted to get her on your lap, to kiss her, make out with her, to make her moan, but she wanted to make sure you were completely fine, even though your wounds were healed for a few weeks now.

Judging by the way her tongue pushed against your own, and how she was pressing her body against yours you figured it was no longer an issue. Until your phone buzzed in your pocket. You tried to ignore it, separating from Sam’s lips and leaving kisses down her chin and jaw, all the way to the side of her neck as your phone kept buzzing.

“You should see who it is,” she knew how it felt to worry about someone not answering her texts or calls and while she really wanted to keep kissing you she didn’t want anyone to be worried about you like she so often used to be worried about Tara. “Please do, actually. I’m not leaving anytime soon. They won’t let me back in,” she reminded you when you reluctantly took your phone from your pocket.

She watched your eyes widen and then a mischievous grin appeared on your face as you tucked the phone away and lifted her up.

Now, Sam was stronger than you, but you could carry her if needed, and right now you somehow decided you needed to do that. “Y/N?” she laughed, trusting you but still wanting to know what this was for.

“They threw you out, hm?” you teased taking her to the living room and grinning as her face turned completely red. “I got a text from Tara, and I quote: Sam is lying, she just missed you and she might also be horny. One word per text, hence all that buzzing,” the look on her face told you Tara was telling the truth.

“So, any chance we can go straight to the bedroom?” Sam asked sheepishly as she wrapped her arms around your shoulders.

“Of course,” you pecked her on the lips and made your way through your apartment to the bedroom. “Let me take care of you tonight,” you gently lowered her onto your bed and lifted the hem of her shirt a bit. You looked her in her eyes, seeking permission as she bit her lower lip.

“You don’t have to,” she said, she trusted you, she really did, but she struggled to relax and let you take control. It wasn’t about you; it was the very act itself that made her feel vulnerable. Yet, as you looked at her so softly, as you wrapped your arms around her waist and showed her nothing but patience and love, she found herself gradually lowering her guard.

“I’ll pause or completely stop whenever you want me to,” you reassured her, you understood it completely, her needs, her worries, everything. “I love you,” those three words pushed the feeling of guilt away and her gaze lingered on your eyes, on your lips, on the clear message: ‘Take as long as you need, I’ll be here, I’ll never hurt you.’

So, she pushed against your shoulders until you were beneath her and she was straddling your lap. She swallowed hard, grinding slightly against your thigh. “I love you too,” she confessed as you began kissing. She shivered as your hands gripped her hips, firm and steady, as she rocked her hips against you. Your lips felt like fire against her own, especially when you paid extra attention to switch between softly brushing against her lips, just teasing her until she had to deepen the kiss and hot, lip biting, tongues deep inside either of your mouths kisses she couldn’t get enough of.

“Sam,” you sighed, your left hand ghosting over her back. She tilted her head back as you began kissing her neck. Your teeth grazed her skin, biting softly and soothing the skin with your kisses. Sam swallowed her, breathing deeply as her hands lifted your shirt up over your head. Her fingers slid over your skin, your back, your arms, your still covered breasts and stomach. She needed the softness, the gentle way you loved her, and she needed it even more when her thumb caressed the scars you got because you got involved with her.

“We survived, Sam,” you whispered in her ear, moaning softly when she started grinding on you faster. “You’re okay, I got you,” you wouldn’t betray her, ever, she was sure of that and her guard crumbled as she let out a small moan escape past her lips.

Your heart soared when you heard Sam’s moan, it was a rare occasion, she usually only became vocal when she was close, and this was nowhere near enough to get her there. You took her shirt and bra off. “I need you so much,” you sighed against her neck and squeezed her breast, your thumb circled around her nipple as it hardened.

“I need you too,” she said, completely giving up control as you flipped the two of you around once more and lied down next to her so she wouldn’t feel caged in by you.

You pulled her jeans and panties down, getting her naked and just taking the sight in. Her toned body, her abs, biceps, the fact that she was this strong, physically and mentally, yet she still trusted you enough to take control drove you mad.

You invaded all of her senses. Your warm palm teasing her thighs as you left kisses on her shoulders and breasts, and the feel of your hair between her fingers as she spread her legs for you. And the scent, your own scent mixing with the spreading scent of her arousal as she progressively got wetter. The sound of your lips releasing her nipple with a pop and your tongue sliding across her breast to her neck, all the way to her ear. The look of pure lust and desire and all the love you felt for her in your eyes, and the taste of your kiss still lingering on her lips. You were all she could feel, and she couldn’t stop the whimper leaving her parted lips as you finally, finally, touched her pussy lips.

You were slow, methodical, each of your strokes bringing you closer to your goal, each time bringing you closer and closer to her opening, and with each stroke you felt Sam clinging to you harder than before. Her hands dropped to your back, nails digging into your shoulderblades just hard enough for you to feel them, but nowhere nearly hard enough to pierce through the skin. She moaned, louder, without restriction as you parted her lips and dipped your finger into her warm, wet hole. “I got you,” you assured her, feeling her shuddering as you moved the wet finger from her opening to her clit and gently massaged it.

“You got me,” Sam rasped, making sure you knew she felt safe, this exposed and vulnerable with you. She moaned as you kissed down her stomach. She looked down as you gave her a small smirk and flicked her clit with your mouth before pulling it between your lips and sucking on it. “Oh, fuck!” she hissed, breathing harder as you inserted two fingers into her, slowly stretching her out until you found her G spot.

Sam cried out, needing you closer, needing your lips on hers. “Y/N,” she gripped your shoulder, trying to tug you closer as the steady, gentle rhythm of your fingers pushed her closer and closer to the edge.

You understood her needs, you understood the grip on your shoulder and moved up, capturing her lips into a deep, sensual kiss as she hugged you, anchoring herself to you.

“I’m-“ she gasped, separating from your lips and arching her back as her pussy squeezed around your fingers. Her entire body quivered as a deep, guttural moan ripped through her throat. “Y/N!” she cried out, the sensations you’ve been building up fully pushing her over the edge.

You kissed her cheek and she turned to look at you, out of breath as you slipped your fingers out of her and just held her closer. “Thank you,” you whispered as Sam cradled your cheek and kissed you on the lips.

“You’re too good to me,” she sighed, her voice still slightly shaky as she spoke. She still leaned closer to you, letting you caress and massage her to help her as she got down from her high.

“Hush now, you deserve all the love,” you leaned down and flicked her still hard nipple. “Can you go on?” you asked, after all, you had her just for yourself for the whole night. Sam smiled and nodded and damn, you were going to love her all night long.

A/N: There you go Anon! I hope you'll like this 😁😁

[buttl0rd]

I'm watching like a hawk for that new kid 🤲 THE BABY

ALRIGHT HERE HE IS!! lemme introduce you to the new kid 👉👉

this is carroway - he's the best 😎👽

this is gonna be a long post cause i have so much art and content to gush about. i love this kid 👇

Some fun character details:

he was originally supposed to be like the 90's movie tough bully kid but he's ended up just being a stupid asshole. he probably likes to think he's really cool and tough 💪

has 3 younger sisters, hates being outnumbered by girls

huge foodie and finishes whatever you don't eat. not fussy at all

always leaving his mittens outside. they get all wet and gross in the snow

affectionately ripping on everyone he loves. he's a total asshole but most people know he doesn't mean half the shit he says. the real ones tolerate him 😔🤙

he doesn’t know he’s bisexual (don’t tell him, he’ll find out on his own)

Hobbies & Interests

Aliens. Carroway is a firm believer in alien life and has an immense interest in UFO sightings, alien communication and all things outer-space. He often brags to his classmates that he has been abducted and probed, and is friends with the Martians that visit South Park sometimes (do any of them believe him?). He has a telescope that he set up in his friend Dante’s treehouse which he uses to spot UFOs in the night.

FUN FACT: His probe is linked with Cartman's. It's the connection that makes it possible for OCs to exist in the same universe as canon characters.

Drums. He has a drum set in his garage on which he practices every day after school. He has exceptional rhythm and is very talented. He keeps drumsticks in his backpack just in case he encounters a drumset or anything he can make a beat with (tables, benches, trashcans, etc.) Neighbors complain to his parents about the noise, so his garage is sound-proofed to the best of Mr. Carroway’s ability. 

Snowboarding. Carroway goes snowboarding every few weeks. His family do snowboarding trips and he LOVES it. He also skateboards and rides his bike when he’s not up in the mountains, kid just likes to go fast. He dreams of being a professional snowboarder when he’s older.

TFBW: Boarderline

Boarder is a special flying support unit, part of Coon & Friends. He delivers high-impact quick attacks with his hoverboard and can heal/cure status conditions with his awesome space beams. As a speedster he utilizes the whole battlefield and is constantly moving, making him difficult to hit.

Origins:

He was a human that got abducted and genetically modified by Martians to serve and protect the alien race. After battling in many galactic wars he returned to his home in Colorado. His abilities were noticed by the superhero organization, Coon & Friends and Boarder was recruited to join their alliance. He provides support to Coon & Friends in battle.

Design:

Inspired by the gear he wears when he goes snowboarding.

His superhero costume consists of a white bodysuit with black tape accents and a big old metal zip. There's reflective blue strips on the gloves, boots and around the edge of his signature spaceboard. He's got these iconic space goggles that protect his face when he’s flying at the speed of light.

His name is a play on words - board (from his hoverboard) and borderline (being only just good enough for Coon & Friends). Allies call him Boarder for short.

SOT: Skullrogue

Skullrogue is Carroway’s Stick of Truth character.

He is a rogue-class unit and is quick and sneaky on the battlefield. He has a long black hooded cloak and a skull mask. His main weapon is a pair of daggers that are enchanted with flame magic. He cannot use magic himself but he is proficient with weapons, especially the daggers. He throws them and uses them to stab enemies in the back.

Skullrogue has an undisclosed edgy backstory, like any rogue player. He is mysterious and broody and so cool. He is loyal to the Wizard King and thinks Princess Kenny is hot.

Post-COVID

As a young adult, Carroway becomes a professional snowboarder and competes nationally in competitions. He becomes famous and earns a lot of money from his career, travelling the world for competitions. He makes it all the way to the Winter Olympics, representing the USA in the snowboarding category

After a career-ending injury in his mid-30's, he had to retire from snowboarding early and now lives off his sponsors and used-to-be-a-big-shot money. Despite being wealthy, he moved back to South Park and lives in a trailer (it’s easier than having a huge house). 

He sometimes needs a walking aid to get around and is medicated for chronic back pain.

He was too busy with his career to find love when he was younger, so he stays single and lonely in his 40s. He still goes out and does sport events, commentaries and sponsorships - he remains famous even though he cannot compete anymore. He’s like a living legend in the winter sports community. 

I'm still working on a PCOV design for him so stay tuned for that...

Anyway that's it for now!! I hope you love him 😘