#primitive graphics

[hindbodes]

Just so you know, Jeff, I am currently working on a game that looks like this:

[3neonnightlifenostalgiablog]

[schizumizu]

No 029 Catticus Elements

Fine Art Poster 40 cm x 50 cm

[mcromwell]

“Patterned Pup” 

Original sold, prints here: https://www.inprnt.com/gallery/marandacromwell/patterned-pup/ 

[yudacquel1961blog]

[mossandfog]

Pixar's Distant Grandfather

We take sophisticated, high-end computer animation for granted these days. Even smaller movie studios are putting out stunning, high-definition 3D animation. It wasn’t always like this. A mini clip from 2023’s Elemental, showing the amazing CG graphics of the 2020s. Obviously, modern computer animation had to start somewhere. That somewhere includes a number of primitive and simplistic animated…

[skullosaurus]

I love old PC CD-ROM games, I love how even in non horror games the vibes were always just so atrocious that I was scared of them as a child anyway

[molsno]

I feel like the western stigma against visual novels is rooted not just in orientalism (as many have said) but also classism. sure, you may not recognize this medium as a legitimate category of video games because you grew up playing graphically intensive AAA console and pc games, but not everyone has had that luxury. for most of my life, I've been unable to play most pc games due to never being able to afford a computer with even halfway decent specs. visual novels on the other hand? everyone can play those. find any computer made in the last 20 years, and you can almost certainly play visual novels on it! it's no surprise that so many critiques of the medium come in the form of mockery over how "simplistic" and "primitive" they are (comparing them to slideshows is a common joke). people don't see them as worthy of acknowledging because they're simply too accessible. and if you think that's a reach, I urge you to think for even a minute how widespread of a problem elitism over graphics has been in the gaming community since its very inception.

[punkshort]

look what we've become - ch.8

Chapter Summary: Your POV from captivity. You learn some interesting information about the Fireflies and run into an unexpected person from your past.

Chapter Warnings: language, graphic depictions of violence, blood, torture, one teeny tiny 'daddy' reference (couldn't help myself, more of a nod to the fandom than anything), infected, reader gets roughed up, description of injuries and pain

WC: 4.7K

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

"You said take the girl, so I took the girl!"

"I meant the fucking kid, not her!"

You stifled a groan, your eyes still shut tight, unable to handle the brightness from the overhead lighting. Your head was spinning, and if you moved too much, your stomach heaved, so you laid as still as possible, hoping and praying whatever was going to happen would happen quickly.

The smell didn't help, either. You had no idea where you were, but your cheek was pressed up against a cool, tile floor and the entire room smelled like rot. You heard a muffled, rhythmic thumping against a wall in the corner of the room. It felt damp and humid, like maybe you were in a cabin or a basement. And you definitely were not alone. Once you woke from whatever drug they had slipped into your neck, you did your best to still appear asleep, hoping that maybe you could find out some helpful information while your captors still thought you couldn't hear them.

The two voices continued to argue - a man and a woman - about the mix-up. Ellie. They were after Ellie, not you. That frightened you even more.

How long has it been since you've been taken? Hours? A day?

Joel would have made them leave. He wouldn't have kept her there after he realized what happened. If not to protect her, he would have moved to try to find you. As much as you didn't want him to come looking for you, to put Ellie in harm's way, you knew he would. You had no idea how many people were part of this group that took you, but it was definitely too many for Joel to handle on his own. And he wouldn't waste time going back to Jackson for help.

You needed to get out of there before Joel got himself killed trying to find you.

The voices continued to talk, the volume increasing, the words becoming clearer. They were getting closer to where you were tied up on the floor. Why did the one voice sound vaguely familiar? Did you know these people?

"We sent another crew out to fix your fuck up," the woman said, her shoes squeaking on the tile. "You better hope they find her, or it's your ass."

"Yes, ma'am," the man's voice said weakly.

"I know you're awake," the woman's voice said icily. Part of you wanted to remain still and call her bluff, but her boot was too close to your already tender head, and you didn't want to risk another hit. You allowed one eye to crack open, the light like an icepick in your brain. You brought your hands up to shield your eyes as you struggled to sit upright with your wrists and ankles tied together.

When you finally sat up, you leaned your head back with a sigh, trying to get your bearings and calm your churning stomach before forcing both eyes open to look at your captor for the first time.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," you croaked, surprised at how rough your own voice sounded.

Amy laughed and jumped up on a gurney behind her, swinging her legs back and forth over the edge, the motion making you nauseous the longer you watched.

Amy. Joel's ex-fiancée and the woman who helped lead the group of animals who took you both in long before you found Jackson, under the guise of it being a safe community but failing to mention that community ran on a very primitive form of currency.

"Yeah, thought you'd be happy to see me," she said with a chuckle, flicking her dirty blonde hair over her shoulder.

"Elated," you said dryly, sliding your eyes back closed.

"If it makes you feel any better, I wasn't exactly thrilled to see you, either."

"That does make me feel better, thank you," you snapped, opening your eyes again to glare at her.

"You do realize I hold the key to your release, right? Maybe treat me with a little respect," Amy said, the fake smile slipping from her face.

"You and I both know I'm not getting out of here," you replied, but she shook her head.

"Not necessarily. If we can't find the girl, you're our contingency plan."

You narrowed your eyes, the rage beginning to burn deep in your chest. Knowing you would regret it, you asked the question anyway.

"What do you mean?"

Amy smirked as she slid down from the gurney and bent down to look you in the eye.

"What I mean is, he would do anything to get you back. Including giving up the kid."

Something in you snapped. You lunged forward, swinging your head and smashing it directly into her nose. You heard the distinctive crunch right as the blood began to pour out of both nostrils. She stumbled back in shock, clutching her face while she howled in pain. Even though your head felt like it was splitting in two, you grinned. Worth it.

Once the pain subsided, she dropped her hands, her face smeared with dark red blood, her nose turning purple and swollen, clearly broken.

"You fucking bitch," she muttered. She took one step forward and swung her leg back, the toe of her boot coming in direct contact with your cheek. You squeezed your eyes shut, refusing to make a single noise indicating you were in any pain, not giving her the satisfaction. But the blood that was pooling in your mouth told a different story.

Amy laughed as she watched you spit blood on the tile next to you.

"You're gonna regret that," she said, walking backwards towards the door. "Your people really had us chasing you all over the goddamn place, even lost a few friends. I got some guys outside who would love to break a few of your bones for all that."

As the door slammed shut, you finally allowed yourself to take a shaky breath in and look around. Even though you were alone, you still heard the thumping coming from the corner of the room. You leaned forward, trying to see what was causing the noise, but all you saw was a small room with a stainless steel door sealed shut. There were gurneys everywhere, some of them broken, some not. Between you and the door there were six flat, stainless steel tables in front of what looked like refrigerators. Chancing a look up at the lights, you noticed some appeared to be the type you might see in a dentist's office or an operating room. Then it dawned on you.

You were in a morgue.

You couldn't be sure how much time had passed. You lost consciousness a few times. Amy wasn't kidding. The men she employed were pissed, and they took it out on you with every punch and kick. Each time you woke up, you felt a new pain somewhere in your body. A new broken bone or a new cut. Eventually, Amy returned, and even in your wrecked state, you still found a sliver of pleasure seeing her nose taped up and the dark bruise blooming under each of her eyes.

"Had enough yet?" she asked with a smirk. You snarled in response and spit more blood on the ground.

"What do you want from me?"

"I want you to tell me where Joel and the girl are," she said, holding her hands out to her sides like it was obvious.

"I have no idea," you said truthfully, struggling to sit up.

"Okay, why don't you tell me where home is, and we can start there?" she offered, and you laughed.

"You should just go ahead and kill me if that's what you want," you told her, glaring at her with one eye, the other swollen shut already.

"Don't think we won't," she said, tilting her head to the side as she regarded you silently for a moment, her thoughts clearly drifting to something else.

"What?" you asked her through gritted teeth.

"Don't you think he's a little old for you?" she finally asked, her eyes raking up and down your body. You knew it would always boil down to this. You knew she could never see past your relationship with Joel. What he was willing to do for you, what he has done for you, what she lost and would never have.

"What, do you have daddy issues or something?" she asked with a scoff.

You smirked as more blood trickled down your chin, the cut on your lip refusing to heal.

"Sometimes he likes it when I call him daddy, if that's what you mean," you told her. The face she made was worth the kick to the head. You giggled and coughed, the pain and the smell and the insanity of everything happening finally hitting home.

"He's gonna kill you, you know," you said with a grin, leaning up against the cool tile wall. "Even if you kill me. Especially if you kill me, he will find you, and he will kill you."

Amy was smirking at you, but you saw the look in her eye. It was fast, but you caught it. She knew you were right.

"We'll see," she said, backing up so she could lift herself up on one of the stainless steel tables. She watched you for a moment, blood trickling out of every wound, bruises deepening in color with each passing minute. You were pretty sure your arm and a couple ribs were broken and you most definitely had a concussion, but you refused to show any weakness. You glared at her from your spot on the ground, waiting for whatever was going to happen next.

"Do you know what we do here?" she asked you. The question took you off guard.

"Other than torture people? No."

She laughed at that.

"We're trying to make a fucking vaccine," she told you, like she expected you to be grateful. You already figured that much out, but you didn't say so.

"How's that going for you?" you asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"It would be a lot fucking better if we had that goddamn girl," she told you. Her emotions were getting the best of her. You could hear it with every word, and it put you even more at ease. They were desperate.

"Oh, yeah?" you said. "That's a shame."

"Do you have any idea how many people sacrificed themselves for this cause?" she asked, her brows furrowed. You shrugged.

"Enlighten me."

"Countless," she said, jutting her chin towards the room in the corner. You looked over at the closed door. The thumping was fainter when you were alone, but now that Amy was talking, the noise started up again.

"There's a lot of people who are immune, you know," she began, and you felt your muscles tense. "So many of them gave their lives to help us find a cure. We are so close. Our doctor just needs one more, and that kid is the answer." You began to put the pieces together, and the noise in the corner was starting to make sense. You felt your stomach roll.

"Sounds like a really shitty doctor if they let so many people die," you told her, and she scoffed.

"He's brilliant. You have no idea how difficult it is to extract DNA in this type of setting, and - I don't even know why I'm bothering," she said, shaking her head. "The point is, that girl could save us all."

"You said it yourself. There's a lot of people who are immune," you mumbled. You could feel yourself fading but you fought to stay awake. "Find someone else."

"Fuck that," she said, jumping down from the table and crouching in front of you. "Where is she?"

"Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you," you whispered, your good eye sliding shut.

"Don't you dare pass out!" she shrieked, slapping you across the face. The adrenaline perked you up for a few seconds, but the blood loss ultimately won, and you slipped back into darkness.

You woke up to the sound of gunfire coming from the floors above you. The noise was faint, but it was distinctive. Pop, pop, pop. How long were you out for this time? Was it nighttime? There were no windows, you had no semblance of time other than the hunger that gnawed at your insides as more hours passed without food or water.

You blinked and looked around, confirming you were still alone before trying to sit up. The blood loss was too much, your head was pounding, and your side felt like you had been hit by a bus. Slumping back down, you took a few deep breaths before trying again. The gunshots were getting closer, and your adrenaline was spiking, giving you the little boost you needed to force yourself up. You looked down, trying to assess the damage to your body. Your upper thigh had a big, weeping gash, probably the culprit for the majority of your blood loss. Your one eye was still swollen but you could crack it open just a bit now if you really had to. Your cheekbone felt like it might be broken, and a few ribs were definitely broken, but at least your knees and ankles were good. If you could cut the ties, you could run. Or stumble.

As the gunfire got closer, the thumping against the door in the corner of the room got louder. There was no doubt in your mind at this point that they kept infected in there, and you just hoped you weren't still tied up if they got out.

Your brain was foggy, you were having a hard time staying focused, but the panic began to set in. Why was there gunfire? What was happening? Then a hazy thought drifted by in the back of your mind. Joel?

There was no way he could have found you this fast. He wouldn't have put the pieces together. You barely could keep up with what was happening. But then the door handle jiggled and a small form snuck into the room quietly and you thought you must have been dying. Surely, you were hallucinating, your brain short circuiting as it began to shut down, because there was no possible way Ellie was actually crouching in front of you, repeating your name urgently as she tugged on your restraints to no avail.

"Shit, hold on," you heard her mutter, setting the familiar looking hunting rifle on the floor next to her so she could fish her switchblade out of her pocket. Yes, you were most definitely hallucinating. Joel wouldn't have given her his rifle. Unless...

"Is he dead?" you rasped, finally finding your voice. Ellie paused with her switchblade hovering over your ankles and frowned at you.

"Joel? No," she said, shaking her head as she began to saw on the restraints, freeing your legs and then moving to your wrists.

"What's..." you tried again, but you could feel yourself fading and all you could hear was that fucking thumping in the corner of the room and the gunfire down the hall.

"We're getting you out of here," she said, tucking her shoulder underneath your arm and hoisting you up with a grunt. You muffled a cry at the pain shooting down your side, blood gushing down your leg again now that you were moving.

"Oh, fuck," she whispered, leading you over to a gurney so you could steady yourself before she dug into her pack for an old shirt. She bent down and wrapped it around your thigh as tight as she could, wincing as she double knotted it before she stood back up.

"Can you move?" she asked, her eyes wide with panic. You nodded, but you weren't sure. If Ellie had the rifle, where was Joel?

As if an answer to your question, Joel burst into the room and slammed the door shut behind him, frantically looking around before pulling a table over to barricade it. You must have looked worse than you thought because when he finally turned around to look at you for the first time, his face crumpled for a moment before he quickly collected himself and rushed over.

"What'd they do to you?" he murmured in your ear as his arms came up to wrap around your middle. You winced and leaned back, your hand coming up to your ribs to tenderly cover the spot he just squeezed.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," he whispered, his eyes raking down your body, trying to take stock of your injuries.

"It's okay," you said. His eyes flicked to the corner of the room where the noise was reaching a fever pitch.

"Oh, shit," Ellie muttered, her attention also pulled to the locked door.

"We gotta get you outta here," Joel said, seemingly making the connection much quicker than you did. "Can you walk?"

"I think so, but I can't go fast," you said, bending over and holding yourself up with your arms braced on the gurney. For the first time, you noticed the blood. He was covered in it. Splashed up his jeans and boots and all over his hands, some even sprayed on his neck.

"That's fine," he said as he began to push the table away from the door. The noises from the locked room got even louder as the table legs screeching on the tile floor.

"There's too many of them, Joel. We can't-"

"Yeah, we can," he said, cutting you off. He was turning to look at you, still in disbelief while he opened the door, not paying attention as someone pushed their way in, knocking him to the ground with the stock of a rifle.

He fell with a groan, his hands coming up to clutch the side of his face as Amy quickly locked the door behind her. She aimed her rifle at Joel's chest, and he dropped his hands to the side, staring up at her like he was seeing a ghost.

"What the fuck?" he whispered, and she smirked.

"Nice to see you, too, baby," she snarled, her nose still taped and her eyes still black.

"Who's she?" Ellie asked under her breath at your side, but you just shook your head. Amy glanced up and let out a shaky laugh when she saw Ellie.

"After everything you did, Joel, you still lost," she said. You looked between them, confused and barely holding onto consciousness. What did that mean?

"What the hell happened to you?" Joel asked her, his voice laced in disgust.

"I got with the fucking program, Joel! That's what!" she yelled at him before taking a step back, the rifle still aimed at his chest.

The door handle began to rattle violently with all the yelling. You could see it being pushed open a crack from the other side, then hands wrapping around the edge of the door until the lock broke and it finally swung open.

Joel scrambled to his feet and grabbed his revolver from his side while Ellie shouldered the hunting rifle as infected came pouring out, their screams making you wince.

Gunshots rang out, a few infected fell, but Amy's gun jammed and a runner knocked her down. She rolled off to the side and kicked it in the chest, sending it flying backwards right into Ellie, the gun falling from her hands.

You picked up Joel's rifle as quickly as you could in your weakened state, but right as you took aim at the infected's head, you watched its teeth clamp down around her arm. You both screamed, Ellie in pain, you in fear as you lodged a bullet right into the back of the runner's skull, its body falling limply to the side. You dropped the gun to the ground, too exhausted and weak to hold it anymore. Ellie scrambled up and swiped frantically at her arm, watching as the blood trickled out.

"Are you okay?" you asked, reaching out to her. She nodded and looked up at you, her eyes suddenly going wide.

"Look out!"

You ducked just in time to avoid getting hit in the back of the skull with Amy's rifle. She fell forward on her hands and knees, then scrambled to grab Ellie's ankle, yanking her down and pulling her against her chest.

You vaguely heard Joel's gun still firing behind you, taking down infected, when you watched Amy's arm wrap around Ellie's throat, her face going red while she gasped for air. You didn't even think, you just reacted. Ignoring the pain, you surged forward and pounced on top of her, yanking her arm off of Ellie's neck with every ounce of strength you had. Ellie rolled to the side, kneeling and coughing with her hand gingerly touching her red skin while your fingers gripped Amy's neck. She clawed at your hands, panic filling her eyes as she looked up at you helplessly. You put all your weight into it, squeezing with all your might and praying you didn't pass out before ending this once and for all.

In one last ditch effort, Amy dug her thumb deep into your wounded thigh, making you cry out and loosen your grip. She tossed you off of her and you collapsed next to Ellie with a loud thud. Forcing herself to her feet, Ellie stood over you protectively, her switchblade held shakily in her hand as blood trickled slowly down her arm and dripped onto the tile floor next to your head.

The room finally seemed quieter. You chanced a look towards Joel. He was standing on the other side of the room, surrounded by dead infected and panting for air. When he turned to the three of you, you finally noticed the huge gash on the side of his head from where Amy hit him. His blood dripped down his neck and below his collar, his shirt absorbing the dark red drops.

Amy grabbed the rifle you abandoned and swung around, aiming it at the pair of you as she walked backwards. Joel kept his revolver trained on her as he slowly made his way over to your side of the room.

"You just ruined all our chances at having a fucking life again, Joel," Amy seethed, her eyes boring into his.

"Should've thought about that before you took what's mine," he grumbled angrily, standing next to you now. You curled into a ball on the floor, the pain too much to handle.

"If you'd have just brought us the girl in the fucking first place, none of this would have happened and we wouldn't have touched her," Amy retorted, jutting her chin in your direction.

"The hell's so special about the kid?" Joel asked, but before she could answer, a telltale click, click, click echoed in the room, and you all froze. Your one good eye popped open as you watched a clicker stumble from the room in the corner, snapping its teeth and swiping mindlessly at the empty space in front of it.

Joel glanced down at your state, knowing he wouldn't be able to pick you up and get out of there in time. Ellie gripped her knife tightly as she watched the clicker get further into the room.

You could see the look in Amy's eye. She was glancing around frantically, trying to figure out a way to use this to her advantage. But lucky for you all, you thought of it first.

Carefully, you reached out in front of you, your fingers picking up the bullet casing on the floor from when you shot the runner. Before you had time to overthink it, you tossed the casing to the other side of the room, the metal clinking right between her feet.

The clicker turned towards her and shrieked, its arms flailing wildly. Amy panicked and backed up, but her sneakers squeaked on the tile and that was all the clicker needed. You watched as its hands gripped her shoulders to hold her steady while its mouth ripped violently into her neck. Blood gushed everywhere, puddling on the floor and causing her to lose her footing. Her screams reverberated in the room. You covered your ears, trying to muffle the sound until her screaming eventually stopped.

While the clicker was still distracted, Joel snuck up quietly behind it and lodged a bullet in its head, and the room finally filled with silence again.

Joel turned around as Ellie was helping you back on your feet. He noticed the blood dripping down her arm and his body stiffened.

"You were bit," he said, staring at the blood seeping through her shirt. Ellie looked down at it and then looked back up at him, shaking her head and backing away slowly.

"N-no, it's fine, really-"

Joel held up his gun, pain flickering across his face.

"Joel, don't," you said, but he shook his head.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. She's bit, we can't-"

"Put the gun down, Joel, and listen to me," you told him, taking a few shaky steps to the side so you stood between him and Ellie.

His arm immediately dropped when you blocked his shot, and he looked at you with despair in his eyes.

"There's nothin' we can do, I'm sorry kid, but -"

"She's immune, Joel!" you yelled, cutting him off again. He froze, stunned, as his eyes flicked back and forth between yours and Ellie's.

"What?" he finally whispered.

"It's true," Ellie said from behind you, then she pulled up her sleeve and showed him her old bite. "Got it a couple months ago. See? It's all healed."

Joel stumbled back a bit, catching himself on the edge of a table as he tried to follow what was happening.

"Wh- how?"

"I don't know, some people just... are," she said, her gaze dropping to the floor.

"It's why they wanted her so badly. They were trying to use her as a guinea pig to make a vaccine," you added.

"You knew?" Joel asked, looking at you with hurt in his eyes. You nodded, your lip trembling.

"Listen, I would love to tell you everything I know, but can we do it in the fucking car?" Ellie asked, growing impatient. You could tell Joel was still struggling with this new revelation, but he knew you were in desperate need of medical care.

"You so much as twitch -" Joel said, storming over to her now and letting himself trail off.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Can we go now?"

If you weren't in so much pain, you might have laughed at how cavalier she was about the whole thing.

Joel found a beat up looking wheelchair and helped you into it. He instructed Ellie to push you while he led the way down the hall. He picked up an assault rifle from one of the dead bodies as he made his way to the elevator. You glanced around at the carnage as you waited for the doors to open, then looked up at him by your side.

"Did you do all of this alone?"

He looked down at you, his eyes lingering on your one open eye for a moment before nodding curtly. As you filed onto the elevator, you tried to examine him for any injuries, but aside from the hit to his head and a few minor scratches and bruises to his knuckles, he appeared fine.

The doors opened up on the main level and you gasped. If you thought the basement level was bad, it was nothing compared to the main level. Ellie pushed your wheelchair through the blood on the floor, her footsteps and the wheels leaving imprints as you went. Joel went up ahead to push some bodies out of the way and make a clear path for you to get to the front door.

"Truck's right out front," he said.

"Joel, how did you... do this?" you asked, still hardly believing what you were seeing.

"What'dya mean?" he asked, his hand on the front door, ready to push it open. You looked up at him and swallowed the lump in your throat, unable to comprehend what you were seeing. He let his hand drop to his side so he could kneel in front of you and pinch your chin between his fingers, giving you a gentle kiss.

"I did what I had to do to get you back."

Tag List @nana90azevedo @ninaminaromina @untamedheart81 @taz-97 @nastiasnow @amyispxnk @plz-be-solo @iloveramensm @caitlynsixxx @anoverwhelmingdin @harriedandharassed @jessthebaker @txtattoostark @merz-8 @sarahhxx03 @oscarissac2099 @motherjoel @silas-222 @b3l1nd5 @rocket-raccoon-silvie @missladym1981 @angie2274 @maried01

[wildbluesorbit]

London || JTK

18+MDNI

Paring: asshole!Jakexreader(f)

A/N: ITS FINALLY HERE! I can’t even tell y’all how nervous I am; this is my first fic AND the first smut I’ve ever written. I’m a Third Eye Blind freak and just generally think this song is one of the sexiest songs in existence so naturally I knew I wanted to write this fic. Big big love and thank you’s for my editor @tommie-gvf. I loved writing this so much and didn’t think it could get any better until I saw everyone’s reactions.❤️‍🩹

I ask for your patience as I’m a beginner and am very open to criticism. Pretty please tell me what you think!

Summary || Jake has a lover that lives in London. He visits her every time he’s in town, but recently the simmering situationship has taken a toxic turn.

Content Warnings || swearing, alcohol consumption, party setting, toxic relationship, jealousy, over possession, verbal aggression, slight physical aggression, big angst, graphic sexual depictions

Kink Content || dom(m) and sub(f) shift, [semi] public sex, dirty talk; praise & [public] degradation, sadism, zelophilia, katoptronophilia, daddy kink, slight impact play, nipple play, dry humping, hand job, ejaculation(f), oral sex(f receiving), penetrational sex

Word Count || 8.3k+

*disclaimer - I have no idea how to write any European, reader’s origin is up for interpretation*

You continue to refresh your phone screen in hopes that it will load a new message or maybe even reveal a glitch.

“You know,” your best friend, Claire, aspires to tempt you back to reality, “that guy hasn’t taken his eyes off of you since we got here, right?”

A hum in acknowledgment of her bait is the only thing your split attention will allow as you proceed in refreshing your messages. Even going as far to restart your phone.

“He's kind of cute,” you return another hum as she sings further, “like really cute.”

“Go on then, have a go,” you try to push her self-assigned matchmaking duties back on her.

You have no choice but to be shoved back into the rumbustious surroundings of the overpopulated flat party as your phone is suddenly ripped from your hands. Claire raises it above her head not even bothering to investigate what might be holding you hostage. She is well aware of your antics.

“Please don’t tell me you're texting him again,” she lifts the device higher as you futilely lunge for it.

“He said he was coming,” you begin to gather a defense, “but I haven’t gotten a response since I sent the address… maybe hold my phone a bit higher?”

Claire lets out a monstrous groan of frustration and rolls her eyes, “You really are helpless!”

“I know,” you repine and give her your best pleading puppy dog eyes and hold two starving hands out in front of you.

Begrudgingly she gives in, slamming your phone against your awaiting palms. As soon as your phone is back in your possession you return to refreshing your messages, all in vain of course.

Whenever Jake was in London he always visited you, sometimes even flying you out to whatever part of Europe his show was in or just because he wanted to see you. A trail of one night stands that became ritual.

The nights always started out modest, the two of you innocently traipsing about parties and bars accompanied by his brothers. You would all share drinks and stories for hours, belly laughing until you were ceased by sore ribs, as if you had all been friends for decades.

Nevertheless without fail, as the drinks poured further so did Jake’s appetite for you. He'd always shadow you with some kind of seemingly harmless touch; a hand on the small of your back progressed into squeezing your knee and then thigh, to tugging you into him by the waist when he was made uncomfortable or wanted to share a secret amongst chaotic surroundings.

One by one, his brothers would slowly fade out; Sam first, then Danny, and Josh was always the last to let the party die, taking it with him when he went. From that point, the evenings between you and Jake would morph into a primitive and sensual burn. Teasing and tearing at each other until the two of you eventually spent the rest of your night curled around the other. Once again, darting back to your guarded bubble of shy soft intimacy; neither of you willing to accept it was different from anything else anyone made you feel. Time spent together was something the both of you always rushed through days for, memories neatly placed in a treasure chest of beloved keepsakes when it was over.

But lately, it was different. Something brittle and bitter had blossomed. Jake had gotten only bigger and busier. Sometimes, he’d pule about missing you so naturally you’d beg to see him. He’d send beautiful trinkets and fine clothing from whatever part of the world he was in that next week to ineffectively make up for his absence no token would ever emulate.

Though you are elated for him, you are also acutely aware of your need to move on in order to outrun the pining tidal wave that threatens to swallow you whole. You’d tried before, but no man was Jake. And seeing you with other men only spelled him into a envious fit. A sight that tormented you both, the other too afraid to cry out as nothing was ever set in stone.

So instead you’d go to war over some irrelative thing and he’d ultimately swear on his beloved he didn’t give a shit about you and when or if he’d see you again; only to gift you some pretty peace offering in amends to offset the vigorous cycle once again.

Like a vinyl record against the needle, the two of you are going round and round the same circle; different songs, same sonic. You know if the pattern continues, you are slowly headed towards the dead wax. You hope tonight will mend the broken pieces between you as he vowed he’d come to spoil you a few weeks ago.

“You need to cut him off,” Claire has stated her stance on the situationship brazenly before, “all he does is treat you like shit. He entertains you from a distance and keeps you waiting until he wants to get his dick wet.”

Having been through this debate with her many times, you only frown and exhale, “It's not like that and you know it.”

She mirrors your disapproval, “Isn’t it?”

Just as you are forming your rebuttal your phone buzzes in your hands; confiscating your ability to exist anywhere other than your screen. It might as well have looked like you were going to dial 9-9-9 the way you dementedly scramble to open your phone.

JAKE:

Hey, angel. Sorry, I got stuck at this dive with my brothers and now they don’t want to leave. I think we’re just going to spend the rest of the night here. Maybe I’ll catch you next time?

You had not been enjoying your time at this party. You had been ignoring your best friend. You had been ignoring cute flirty strangers. You had been exuberantly anticipating Jake’s company tonight for months. All to be left on read, pathetically pining for hours now; all so you could be stood up by the man.

Your chest bursts with flames of mortified resentment, fueled by his impudence. Irate does not even scratch the surface of how your heart pounds. Your blood is scalding, skin scorching.

Jake made you feel stupid yet again.

Your face must give you away before you can even get out a word of impertinence as you look up from the insolent text to see Claire smugly sipping her drink.

A knowing smirk spreads viral across her face, “He's not coming, is he?”

The last thing you want to do is tell her bitch ass she is right in your state of red. Instead, you offer her a question you know will sate her pride without feeding on your wounds.

A vengeful grin takes hold of you “Cute stranger checking me out, you mentioned?”

You have never seen her look so pleased with herself as she nods in the direction of a man at the end of the bar whose gaze you hold.

There is no way you are going to let this night go to waste. Not after Jake made such a desperate-looking fool out of you.

You decide if he is going to ignore you it's going to be his loss, not yours. You are not going to let him waste your time and you are definitely not going to let him take your fun.

You throw your most alluring eyes and innocent smile at the stranger and wave him over. He returns the greeting and calls some indiscernible phrases out to the bartender before receiving three drinks and walking over to your table.

He is tall, dark, and handsome. The complete opposite of Jake. A promise of great distraction.

He sets the three drinks down at your table pushing two glasses of what he claims to be screwdrivers towards Claire and yourself. He then proceeds to introduce himself as Hunter through an almost seemingly painful giant smile.

You can’t help but compare it to your favorite pretty and childlike grin Jake always wore, a sight you ache for.

You cordially engage in small talk with him, asking and answering the procedural “Where are you from?”, “What do you do?”, and “What do you like to do?”; fitting in the occasional desirous glances and seemingly innocent yet lingering touches when appropriate.

He is definitely funny, but not witty and satirical like Jake’s humor; undeniably intelligent, but not in the philosophical and existential sense like Jake.

You mentally berate yourself for still thinking about a guy who is obviously not thinking about you when Hunter clutches your hand, ripping you from your dissociation.

He points towards the middle of the flat where you see multiple people frolicking about, “Do you want to dance?”

Why the hell not? You throw back the rest of your drink and smirk wide in response. This seems to oddly appease Hunter but you think nothing of it as you feel yourself being towed to the make-shift dance floor.

At first, the movements are modest, just an adventurous activity between acquaintances. But after a few songs, you feel the alcohol rid you of your inhibitions, most likely against your better judgment, but at this moment you can’t seem to wrap your fingers around any care if you tried.

You grind and tangle yourself up with this man you hardly know. He seems into it and you are blissfully swept away from your afflictions, a win-win. So what is the harm?

As soon as the thought has come and gone, you feel it; an overwhelming perilous sensation of being surveilled. You turn your attention over to where you had left Claire at your table to see her deeply engaged in conversation with Josh.

Fuck. Where there is a Josh there is most certainly a Jake.

You whirl towards the flat’s bar to lock eyes with the source of the sinister stare; an infuriated Jake leaning against the countertop, arms crossed. He holds your gaping stare with a blistering nostril-flared one of his own, licking over his salient bottom lip into that bewitching pout and clenching his jaw.

A small part of you threatens to collapse under guilt as if you have been caught doing something wrong. But you find the majority of you seethes under a new tantalizing flame, devouring any clemency present.

Almost drunk off of this new power dynamic, finally, you have the upper hand and Jake is the one squirming. Of course, you want Jake over this clown any day of the week but he had made you wait almost all night, he can definitely handle a few more minutes.

You spin, now facing towards Jake’s beaming acrimony from the bar, allowing him a full access view to you commandeering one of Hunter's hands connected to the small of your back and slowly guiding him down to your ass, the other to your waist. You press your backside against his pelvis and his hips follow, grinding in the motions of your own.

You stretch upward as high behind you as you can, sinking your fingers into Hunter’s thick black curls. Just to sell it, you showmanly lean your head back against Hunter’s shoulder and whisper sweet nothings in his ear when he leans down into you.

You glance up at your petulant victim to see Jake roll his eyes and throw his head back in a deriding chuckle before he slams down the rest of his pint. Jake is most certainly under your spell.

You tell yourself that each song with Hunter is the last dance until you’re unsure how many have passed. Any concept of time you own is completely suspended in the delicious way Jake looks when he is hungry to devour what he can’t have, and in this moment it happens to be you.

Abruptly, you feel yourself being swept towards the nearest wall and your face being tilted up towards Hunter’s as he cranes his mouth down to meet yours.

It is nice. Pleasurable for sure. He is definitely a good kisser, but again all you can bring yourself to think of is Jake’s perfectly pink pouty lips pressed against yours.

There is no point in tormenting Jake if you are just as miserable.

As you are about to break away from the stale kiss, Hunter’s weight that is pinning you up against the wall unexpectedly falters, sending you fumbling to the floor. You attempt to regain your balance but the room is slightly spinning, a likely side effect from the alcohol in your bloodstream. You might have questioned it having only had a drink or two if your focus wasn’t currently employed by figuring your way back to vertical.

A hand makes its way into your line of sight, offering to help you up. You swat away the aid, recognizing it as Jake’s. He huffs and shakes his head vexed. Jake brings himself closer to the whirling stack of bones that you are on the floor and tenaciously claps his rangy hands around your waist; making a show to assign his fingers in the exact arrangement where Hunter’s had just been. He devoutly springs you to your feet as if you'd rehearsed the move. As soon as you gain your footing you step back from Jake and dust yourself off, despite landing on a clean floor.

You inspect your crumbs of clues; the boys glaring at each other and at the brink of verbal warfare. You arrive at the conclusion that a fuming Jake had let all restraint dissipate as he shoved Hunter off of you in his impulsive fit.

“Why don’t you go find some other victim to slam into a wall,” Jake snarls, “she’s had enough for tonight.”

“She didn’t seem to have a problem when she was dancing all over me,” Hunter shoots back genuinely confused, “are you supposed to be her boyfriend or something?”

You race to interject, “He is not,” addressing Hunter but then throw your finger in Jake’s face, “and you have no right-”

Hunter takes one big territorial step to cleat himself between you and your oppressor. An exasperated Jake scowls at your fictitious defender and back to you, his features melting into a sickened sight as if to ask if you are really going to allow him to be vilified as the threat.

Of course protection from Jake is the last thing you will ever need. He could say whatever he’d like but Jake will never lay a harmful finger to you.

However, the hunt makes the game. You subtly shrug at Jake and let the mens’ egos carry out your dirty work.

Hunter sets his fist on Jake’s sternum in an attempt to get him to step back, “Mate, she doesn’t seem to be into it so why don’t you give us some space.”

This is the trigger that detonates the antagonized man just in front of your human shield.

“Oh trust me, mate,” he mimics Hunter in an explosion, the shrapnel riding your blood to your cheeks, “when I say I happen to know what the little slut is into and it is definitely not-” Jake is cut off by a panicky Josh now stepping in between the two before Jake can say anything he can’t take back.

Josh seems to instruct his detesting brother through glances. You always find it hard to properly digest a situation with the appropriate amount of severity when the twins begin conversing with mere facial expressions.

It only lasts for a second or two before Jake refixes his glare towards Hunter. Mirroring Jake, Josh returns to Hunter with an antsy smile and places a friendly hand on his barely-reachable shoulder, as if he is about to deliver bad news.

“Sorry about him,” he starts to mediate, motioning towards his fuming twin he shrugs and chuckles nervously, “tequila makes him aggressive.”

You almost giggle at Josh’s flamboyant rescue. He is a detail oriented man who is verbally quick on his feet. He usually paints pictures you can not poke holes in. So you know he must be distraught or drunk as you hadn't even seen Jake drink an ounce of liquor since he arrived.

However, Hunter doesn’t seem quite as amused as he slaps Josh's hand off and grunts, “Whatever, I don’t do crazy exes anyway.”

He insincerely waves you off and facetiously blows Jake a kiss in one last satirical jab before sauntering off, dematerializing amongst the crowd.

Jake now recoils from Josh’s touch and waits for him to vanish as well. However, Josh’s sight seeks you and bears a disapproving nod, warning you to behave in a glower. For a split second, you forget he is a twin as his protective demeanor is all that of a vigilant elder sibling.

Nevertheless, Josh makes his way back to where he had been so unnecessarily interrupted and dragged away from Claire.

Your attention gravitates to Jake in daggers. Before you can form any thoughts or strategy, venom goes flying past your lips, “What the actual fuck is wrong with you?!”

Jake swivels his head around, slightly panicking at all the partygoers that had stopped party going to sightsee this freak show. He never likes to be the center of attention unless he has six strings and a fretboard under his fingers.

Nimbly, he leads you by the arm into the nearby bathroom and slams the door shut.

You throw your arms out in confusion, “Have you lost your fucking mind?!”

He fires back, “No, just my patience with you!”

The room is small enough now that his scent circulates and the offensive smell of beer and bourbon attacks your senses; which explains his uncharacteristic boldness.

“Shit, Jake, you smell like a fucking brewery,” you spit out.

He seems to grasp how sloppy he let himself get. Your words siphon a hint of sobriety as he takes a deep breath and now speaks to you with a much more repealed approach.

You can tell he is still upset but is focusing on his convictions for the moment, “Are you okay? I didn’t mean for you to fall like that.” He hesitates, “And I’m sorry- I have no idea why I called you slut- I didn’t mean-”

You are nearly swept away by the sweet breeze of your angelic Jake; the one that trips over his words when he gets excited and loves to take on whimsical personas of his own invention. Jake that is present and kind, even at the end of the night. But just like a fleeting breeze, you easily withstand his charms.

He may have found his composure but you certainly did not, not that you want to, “I’m fine, Jacob! Want to explain whatever the shit that was?!”

Any remorse present in his tone abandons him, “Oh please, you wanted that! I could see it all over your face while you were messing with that prick. I don’t even know why I'm surprised. You’re like a child who throws a fucking fit. The moment I don't do or tell you exactly what you want you go throw yourself into the arms of some random no-good fuck. I knew you were with him as soon as you went radio silent.”

You narrow your eyes at him. You’re almost suspicious of the blank canvas he’s left for you to fill in with logic; he’s usually ten points ahead when debating, never speaking a vulnerable statement for someone to collapse before him. You are almost hesitant to ask the question.

Your hand finds your hip as a means to reinforce your interrogation, “That’s just it, isn’t it? You don’t own me, Jake! So what if I was dancing with Hunter?”

He rolls his eyes and growls at the mention of his name. If Jake were an ounce more theatrical you swear he would have gagged too.

You cross your arms and lean into the balls of your feet as you sharpen your questions, knowing you have him trapped, “If you knew, why did you even show up then? Why do you even care? It’s not like I’m your girlfriend or anything?”

He blurts out way too quickly to disguise any aloofness, “I don’t care!”

Jake immediately throws his head back in defeat and groans, crumbling under further rumination of your questions, as if they frustrate him as much as they do you, “I don’t know! You just- It kills me to see you- sometimes- you make me so-”

He is struggling to articulate his thoughts without making himself look like the blatant asshole, but you see right through it.

You, however, have no problem spitting the word out. In fact, it progresses the igneous tension between the two of you into a delicious sweltering burn.

You dangle the word right in front of him just to watch him squirm, “Jealous?”

The accusation furrows his brow and tightens his shoulders.

If you didn’t know any better, his sudden dark tone would have you red with shame for such an accusation, “You think I’m jealous? Trust me, kitten, you haven’t even seen jealousy. Go fuck that guy for all I care.”

You giggle and raise a slanderous eyebrow, soundlessly challenging his overtly bogus defense. Your defiance vacillates Jake back to his munition.

He charges towards you, his footsteps following the alignment of his pointer finger swinging in your direction, “What the fuck are you smiling at- You know what?! Fuck this and fuck you! You always do this. Always getting me into more trouble than I bargain for.”

Jake is growling in fragments now, growing taller with every step he takes drawing in towards you, surrendering to your gravity.

“This isn’t me! I’m not this person who gets jealous and fights with strangers at a party,” he gestures his clenched fists towards you, arms length away now, “And I don’t like being angry with you!”

Jake corners you between the wall and a stall, yet his rushing commute ceases to falter, “And what’s worse is I actually think you enjoy this! You must get off on this! I think you want to see me lose my mind!”

Jake is close enough that you are now confronted by the moles that cradle his right jaw, the charming silver starting to streak from his temples, the sculpt in the cartilage of his prominent nose, the slight uneven curl of his upper lip and the barely there freckles that line the ample lower. Details no camera could capture and no screaming fan could ever have knowledge of; intimate details one would ever amass without his admission.

If he moves any closer he would have to kiss you. He scolded you for getting worked up off his anger when he was doing the exact same thing. The worst part being you aren’t even sure if he has caught on to this rage-driven gravitation between the two of you. His face reads “Caution, stay away,” but his body is imploring you to take care of him. He is right where you want him, giving you all the power once again.

He resumes waving his finger at you and stiffly pokes your collarbone. He opens his mouth to make another point but his words never deliver themselves. You see his very thoughts dematerialize as he touches your buzzing skin.

He doesn’t even lift his finger from you, just lets it fall to the start of your breasts, making your chest heave. He subconsciously presses his body to yours; so close you catch his erratic breaths on your lips.

You hastily retort while he is distracted, “That’s pretty amusing considering you're the asshole that ruined my night, not the other way around, slut.”

He rakes the pad of his finger still connected to you, up your clavicle till it rests at the top of your outermost prominent neck muscle, delicately wrapping the rest of his digits around your throat once he runs out of room. He sinks further into your orbit so that he is now hovering just above your features.

“Look at you, just begging for someone to put you in your place,” he rasps out, ever so slightly applying a teasing pressure to reduce your air flow.

Collecting yourself enough to stream your words out in a lazy river, you dare taunt the feral man that holds your next breath between his fingers, “Look at you, Jacob, absolutely rabid with jealousy.”

“I’ve had it with your little attitude,” his hand delectably contorts further around your throat in a fit of conniption as he roars through clenched teeth, “Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t fucking drag me here to make me jealous.”

“Bite me, Jake,” you roll your eyes at his arrogance.

You expect him to snap at you, to reprimand you for your insubordination. However, to your surprise he laps one long stripe from the corner of your pout to the start of your cheekbone. The action expels your nerves into shock; a shudder slithers its way up your spine.

Jake sighs against the shell of your ear, “Is that why you’re being such a little fucking brat? You just want me to bite you, sweetheart? Is that it?”

Your only response is a whimper as a crackling heat awakes between your thighs and your hips grind into Jake on their own accord; giving him the only answer he needs.

Satiated by your feedback, Jake nearly moans at regaining the upper hand, “I swear- and why should I even care, kitten?”

You urgently squeal, struggling against your constricting airway, “Because it’s your fault! I’ve never craved attention until you did this to me!”

Cocking his head to the side to purport the appearance of a disapproving analysis, he mocks your need, “How did we end up like this, beautiful? We are absolutely no good for each other.”

You don’t bother devising a clever response, knowing he’s already decided to give you what you want.

He clenches his jaw and runs his tongue along the ridges of his teeth, twisting the pink muscle into the crevices of his molars, “It’s rude to stare, kitten. Do I need to teach you how to use that pretty smart mouth of yours?”

You only bat your eyes at him, your expressionless face waiting for what you know comes next.

He raises an eyebrow at you, impatient for some response and mutters, “Say something.”

A shit-eating grin sneaks its way onto your face, “Don’t forget to lock the door, babyboy.”

Jake’s once kind eyes grow dark to an absolutely immoral shade of lust. Heedlessly, his lips crash against yours, the sensation you’ve fantasized about since the last time his mouth deserted yours. He tastes of bourbon and peaches.

He slips his hands around your ass and hauls you up to straddle his waist. You wrap your legs around him as he staggers towards the door lock as you instructed, as if he couldn’t wait to get his hands on you long enough to complete the task first.

Jake places you on the sink and protestingly pries himself back from you, as if starving for more but looking at you was a vital duty he must perform.

His eyes plot you up and down, infatuated with this strand of you, reserved only for him. You don’t have to say a word for Jake to know what happens when he’s away; the way you move for him confesses everything he is already aware of. He is the only one capable of having you completely and utterly vulnerable and unguarded and unadulterated; animalistically yourself.

For the first time tonight, Jake’s pretty pout draws back in a genuine smile for you; a giddy fool and his favorite fix.

He gracefully reaches to untie your wrap blouse and it falls to your sides, uncurtaining your heaving breasts. He hums in satisfaction of your physique.

Jake lightly places his hands on your knees and observes as his fingers featherly dance upon your thighs, only to stop and squeeze into the thick of them until he leaves white imprints. He curls into you, Jake’s perpetually exposed chest rubbing against your newly bare nipples, extracting a hiss from you.

Your core already weeps with need.

The hungry man burrows his face into your neck but stops right before his lips meet your skin, knowing you desperately need his mouth.

He teases you with a tickling whisper, “Fuck- I missed you. They don’t make girls like you in Nashville.”

The ribbing huff of his breath makes you shudder.

You press your hand against his hip, slide it down the curve of his thigh and inward till you map out his hard length through his pants, “I can see, you poor thing.”

Your movement draws a low growl from him in your ear, “Fuck- You see what you do to me, kitten? You see all the problems you cause me?”

You begin to palm him through his clothes and feign out a bratty whine, “Yes, but we always have such a good time, don’t we Jakey?”

Jake begins to eat at your neck while you continue to caress him until he moves down and out of your reach.

He plots out your clavicle, licking down your sternum through the valley of your peaking breasts; delaying his journey to lap one of your nipples into his warm salacious mouth as he gropes the other in his lanky hand. A few mumbled swears fall from you as Jake begins to venture in biting and sucking marks into the supple flesh of your breasts, soothing each spot with candied kisses afterwards.

“Shit- just when I thought these perfect tits couldn’t get any prettier. An absolutely breathtaking sight with my bitemarks,” he pants.

Jake’s mouth resumes its migration south to your goosebump ridden thighs. He sinks his fingers into the flesh of your ass, resting his elbows against the corners of the sink for balance as he lowers the rest of his body to accommodate the angle of your glistening center.

His mouth now takes purchase of where his fingertips had just deserted your thighs, kissing away the residual sting; closer and closer to your entrance till his head vanishes, canopied in between your skirt and legs. You feel the heat of his huffing through the lace of your panties. The sensation alone is enough to make you whine with need. Jake then bites into the material of your damp thong, sampling your arousal as he tugs your underwear to the side using his teeth. Jake plants his lips to yours in a row of delicate kisses, making you quiver with anticipation.

“Wider,” he growls out the demand.

You lean back to let your bare shoulder blades rest against the ice cold mirror behind you in order to grant him better access to your wetness. Jake is entranced as he gapes at how the chill glass spells you to hiss and clench around nothing.

He takes a deep inhale of you and slots the tip of his nose against your entrance. In one agonizingly slow movement he reclines his head so that his nose flits over your aching clit as he sticks out the flat of his tongue to follow the lewd trail.

You open your mouth to sing his praises but all that comes out is his name in a hiccuping squeak.

He then wraps his ample lips around your throbbing clit and nimbly sucks it into the warm plush of his mouth, swirling his velvety tongue around your bud.

The deed elicits a piteous wail to escape you and the confiscation of any remaining control over your restless limbs. Your hips involuntarily swing forward, seeking more of his mouth.

He rewards you with a swift smack against your thigh, “Easy,” he begins to plant light kisses on your entrance, “needy little thing today, aren’t you?”

Having not fully removed his mouth from you, the vibrations of his teasing words sends unexpected ripples of titillation humming through you, instigating your reeling squirms further, “Relax, kitten. I know how to take care of you. I know what you need.”

He finally unlatches his other hand from your ass. You hadn’t even registered the delicious sting of his fingers over the imperious pleasure of his mouth; a pain promising to blossom into pretty hues of purples, blues, and greens.

He delineates the curve of your thigh with his fingertips, finally fluttering over your entrance. Impatiently, he hikes your skirt up to bunch at your waist. He savagely yanks your lace underwear down and over your ankles, not even bothering to wait for you to adjust to help slip the material off. He looks to you with a seemingly innocent goofy grin as he pockets his newly pillaged treasure.

You roll your eyes and press your lips together to stifle your obvious giggle. In a feigned offense, Jake snatches your ankles in his grasp to reestablish his authority and your attention. Slowly, he lifts your legs to settle your thighs around his shoulders, careful not to throw off your balance on the porcelain counter.

You lock your ankles around him as his hands pet up your legs and wrap around your thighs to bore into your flesh. Jake reintroduces his mouth to your soaking entrance, sloppily devouring your nectar.

Though pleasing, you know he is holding out on you. Jake loves to hear you beg; for you to pray for what you know he can’t help but give you.

“Jake, more,” you demand despite knowing it will land void.

He immediately ceases his feed and arrogantly reminds you of your place, “Oh, I don’t think you’re in any position to give orders now, are you kitten?”

Mourning the loss of his mouth, you choke on a sob, “No, Jake!”

He tenderly begins to brush his digits along your skin, “That’s right, but I happen to know that pretty mouth sings a lot lovelier than she barks.”

He moves one of his thumbs to circle over your swollen clit as incentive, making his compulsion undeniable.

You desperately pant out your pleas, “Please- Shit- Please, Jake. I need- Jake- Fuck- fingers?”

“Sorry, baby, you’re not making any sense,” he terrorizes you now, stretching a free digit from your bud to tease your entrance.

You manage to piece together your needs enough to satisfy him, “Jake- please, I need your fingers- need them inside me- I need to soak them- please, baby?”

Your scandalous words draw a sweet moan from him. The vivacious grant of your request tells you he can’t stand to make you wait any longer.

He begins pumping his middle and ring finger inside you, making you mewl his name.

He once again envelopes your clit in his lips and begins to suck and lap you towards ecstasy. You feel the euphoric tension strain your abdomen as Jake curls his fingers around the spot he always seems to effortlessly discover.

“Fuck- Jake don’t stop- please- please don’t stop,” your voice reaches the high pitch only he brings it to.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, you sound too pretty with my fingers inside you to deny,” he coos against your sensitive clit.

Jake’s lustful praises send you into an orgasmic haze as your walls squeeze around his fingers and back arches away from the mirror.

As he feels you getting close, Jake begins to coach you, “Relax for me, beautiful. Can you relax that pretty pussy for me?”

You inventory only enough coherency to wantonly moan, indicating your process of his demand.

“Good girl, that's it. Just breathe and take it,” his praises coerce you into obedience.

Even though every endorphin in your body is imploring you to writhe at Jake’s touch, you do your best to relax and breathe as he ordered. You relent to Jake’s fingers, allowing him to caress into a new spot, a fresh wave of sensitivity finding you.

He knows he’s found the place as soon as you squeal his name in response. He begins to violently fuck deep into you with his hand, pumping in and out of you, his fingertips catching his new target every time, catapulting you into your orgasm. You're consumed by white heat as you soar through your ecstasy.

You’ve cleared through your orgasm yet oddly the tension in your abdomen is not alleviated but is now twice as constricting.

Jake never ceases to send his fingers in and out of you at a furious pace and the pressure that builds is of a different class, requiring your whole body to participate in your release. Where he was once babying his mark, he is now assaulting it; his digits curling into you with every pump. The sloppy sounds of Jake finger fucking you grows louder with every stroke.

His lips swallow your clit, slurping you into his mouth for safekeeping, sending you into overdrive as you approach this new release. Your pussy begins to convulse and contract around Jake but he drives into you faster still.

“That’s it, babygirl, cum for me. I’ve missed having you on my tongue,” his words barely make their way into your consciousness.

Your vision begins to black out as your eyes roll back and your slick sprays his face and coats his hands.

Yet, Jake refuses to cease his assault. Your climax builds within you so tight, it rips its way out of you. Your cunt expels a deluge of liquids and continues to pour into Jake’s hand with every dizzying clench of your cunt. Again. Again. And again. Until you are downpour, trickling past his wrist and onto the tile floor.

“Fucking shit- Jacob- don’t stop- I can’t- I’m still cumming- Ja- Baby- Jacob,” your voice melodically crashes and breaks against waves of rasping screams and swearing whimpers louder still, floating off somewhere in oblivion.

Jake thinks it's the most beautiful you’ve ever sounded. Your body finally gives, and you collapse back against the mirror behind the sink. After a few seconds you peek your eyes open to see the mess you made.

He pulls away from you to stand once again and observes his glistening hand in a gaping awe, unphased by your cum dripping down his chin.

“I love when you do that,” he mutters more to himself than you as he slurps your elixir from his own limb.

He isn’t even touching you but the pornagraphic sight reels a moan from you.

“Does my beautiful girl want a taste of her own orgasm?”

He places his fingers along your lips, waiting for your consent. You stick your tongue out and he slides his digits up along the textured muscle until you stifle a slight gag; the veins that decorate his knuckles pressing into your top lip.

He pulls your mouth closer to his with his fingers, slipping them out just before he slides his tongue between your lips; you further taste your glaze as he licks into your mouth.

He impatiently pulls away from you with a hungry groan and scatters to undo his belt. His pants fall to his ankles, his normally hidden curves now visible; a delectable sight you will never grow tired of. His physique is appetizingly curvier than most men and the very view made your dripping pussy flutter without remedy.

Jake catches your ravenous stare and arrogantly quips, “See something you like, kitten?”

Rather than respond, you greedily grab at him and slip your fingers under the waistband of his boxers. You tug him closer along with the material and shimmy it down to liberate his hard painfully pink penis.

“I missed you too,” you run a finger over his leaking tip, causing his head to roll back in a hiss, “and this pretty cock.”

In one swift movement, you quickly gather your remaining arousal on his face in your free hand and reach down to slather his throbbing dick. You lay messy open mouth kisses along his jaw and neck as you now lightly pump him in your hand.

“Fuck- you’re so hot,” Jake rasps out at the loss of composure; his mouth slacks agape as you continue to jerk him off.

You move your hand to flick at his head and his features further melt in bliss.

“Slow down,” he whimpers, ”I want to be dripping down your thighs, not your hand,” his statement demands your submission.

You can tell Jake is unraveling fast as he starts twitching in your fingers. He is close until he obstinately pulls you away from him by the wrist.

You pout out an apology and he relocates your hands around his shoulders, and grabs your waist as he paints your cheek with open mouth kisses. His tongue works a long stripe behind your ear and sucks your lobe into his mouth.

He speaks through teeth clenched around your cartilage, “You always misbehave like such a brat, but underneath it all my girl is just a sweet thing, aren’t you?”

His intimate words alone render you to a din of pitiful mutters and swears.

You feel him begin to press his hard cock into the thick of your thigh, involuntarily pursuing relief, “You just need someone who knows what you are, hmm? Knows what you need?”

You praise and beg as your center is reintroduced to that familiar ache, “Jake, please. You know what I need.”

The sensation of Jake grinding himself against your leg dissolves all restraint. You try to buck your hips towards him in search of what you want most, but he doesn’t let you succeed. Jake arrests your waist to push you further back onto the sink.

He snickers at your cupidity, “What a greedy little slut. Just came a fucking mess and you already want more.”

You stroke his ego with hopes flattery will seduce him, “Yes- I’m a glutton for you, please, Jake?”

You scoot back up to the edge of the sink and grab at him; mad for his touch. Instead, your ambition is requited with a stinging smack to your cunt as he bellows the command, “Sit still! I’m not going to tell you again.”

You can’t help the fearless groan that echoes throughout the small room.

He bitterly miffs, “Yea? Should have thought about that before you were fucking around with that shit for brains?”

“Jake, I’m sorry,” you gravel, growing more impatient by the second that you can’t feel him.

Your insincere words purchase you no spoils as he taunts you further, “Good- You have no idea. I wanted to break his fucking nose wide open! What was his name again, sweet thing?”

Before you can fashion any remark, he yanks you to teeter on the end of the countertop once again. Jake, shaft in hand, drives his throbbing tip just past your lips, and flicks himself against your sensitive clit.

Your knuckles grip white against the corners of the porcelain struggling to remain in place as you whimper gibberish, “Fuck- Jake- I- MMM- fuck-”

“Look at my good sweet girl, so cock drunk she can’t even remember the pawn she was using to make me jealous a few minutes ago,” he smugly croons.

He featherly runs his fingers through the tresses of your hair. As he smooths down your mane you cave into his touch.

“I fucking hated seeing you with him,” his words drip with scorn, “It killed me. You deserve better because you’re my good girl.”

Lining himself up to press into your labia, he docks his forehead against your clavicle to look down at his toying with you. Slightly arching forward, his pink head only just glides past your entrance.

You are teetering over the line of ditzy, Jake’s tantalizing quips being the only tether before you are too far gone, “What a filthy slut? Playing dirty to get Daddy’s attention?”

Any remaining composure flees from you as the name is growled against your skin and you immediately call it back to him, “Shit- I’m- fuck- I’m sorry, Daddy. Please, fuck me?!”

One hand still residing in your hair, he tugs by the root to guide your ear to his open mouth, “Well you’ve got my attention now, my sweet little fucked out thing.”

Without warning, Jake mercilessly thrusts himself inside you to the hilt. You slap your hand over your mouth to silence the obscene wails tearing through you.

Jake promptly rips your hand away, “Don’t you fucking dare. I want everyone to hear my little cock drunk slut sing.”

Without granting you an opportunity to adjust to his girth, he pulls himself nearly all the way out just to plunge himself all the way back in, driving into that magical spot.

Just as that illustrious need grows in your stomach, Jake pulls out completely. You don’t have the opportunity to protest before he gathers you from off the countertop and twists you around towards your reflection. He gingerly presses his touch into the protruding shape of your shoulder blade, lightly ushering you to lean over the slab of the counter. You surrender to Jake’s decree, not willing to risk your orgasm.

Jake finds your fucked out gaze through the mirror and faintly adjures, “I want you to watch as I fuck you.”

You know better than to mistake his lowly tone for submission. You lean your weight on your elbows as you settle against the sink and raise your head to take in every detail as Jake begins fuck into you from behind.

His pace starts off moderate, but every stroke pierces deep. Your eyes are spellbound by the vision of his pelvic bone slamming into your ass with every harsh swing of his hips.

You do your best to keep your eyes visible as his rhythm picks up, but inevitably your head hangs limp, dizzy from your approaching high. You resign from your efforts once he begins to rock into you faster, burying himself further in your cunt.

You are compensated by a half-lidded Jake forcing your head back up by your chin, “Nah-uh. Look at me, baby.”

You manage to anchor your head where Jake repositioned it, but you are helpless to the way your eyes roll back as he swivels his hips rutting into that sweet spot. Jake grants you exoneration as your walls tighten around his twitching cock, indicating you are close.

Your every muscle trembles as you are abraded by your final orgasm. You're too far gone in your trance. You babble a gibbered language of swears and crying moans as you give into the chemical release.

“Just one more for me, babygirl, you can take it,” he hushes you.

You are strung back from your trip by the stutter of Jake’s hips and hiccuping moans. He is close. You see him tire as he curls around you, his panting grunts tickling your skin.

“Come on, baby,” you root for him despite your own overstimulation, “fuck me full. Want it so bad.”

You are captivated by the reflection of his features contorting under bliss as he fights to keep his hips in motion. You roll your hips to follow Jake’s strokes as his high suspends his stamina.

His eyes roll back as he begins to convulse, his dick jerking inside you. He releases, his lewd moan of absolute venery graces your ears as he empties himself inside you, coating your pulsing walls.

Jake goes limp, briefly taking refuge against your backside as he catches his breath and you come down from your highs together. He lazily litters your skin with kisses wherever his lips can reach.

He sighs against your spine, “Fuck- you’re magnificent. Absolutely electric.”

He wills himself to stand vertical, tugging his pants back in place over his hips before he eases you upright. Assisting you with his steady grip on your pelvis, the steamy skin of his lithe chest sticks to your backside. He wraps an arm around your waist to hold you steady as your knees buckle upon landing, pulling you into him once more. He bows his head to warrant his lips to lathe your neck, savoring the salt of your skin.

Far too consumed to break away from his sloppy kisses, he tilts his head as his eyes hunt for the reflection of yours, “But I meant what I said earlier, we’re no good for each other.”

He nibbles his way up and sucks at the muscle of your jaw, “I like you way more than I planned to but there’s no way we can continue like this, babygirl.”

You go numb; the only sensation present being pins and needles pricking your chest. His words spell you dumb, abolishing any sense to speak or move.

He delicately spins you to face him once again and tenderly kisses the tip of your nose.

Jakes slightly pulls back to skillfully tie your blouse back up for you, “Whatever this is, it's got to settle here.”

“Jake- you-,” you breathlessly chase for the tail of your thought that doesn’t seem to exist.

He squeezes your hands in his, “I mean it, kitten, don’t call me anymore. I won’t pick up for you.”

The tender manner in which his lips love on you does not mesh with his condemning words.

He draws back to see tears you aren’t aware are now rolling down your flushed cheeks.

He lets go of one of your hands to cup your jaw and kisses the salty sadness from your features, “Don’t cry, baby, you’re perfect.”

He envelopes your lips between his one last time before he brings your hand still in his grasp to place his pucker against your knuckles and whisper, “Please take care of yourself for me, babygirl.”

You are prisoner to paralyzation as those enticing amber eyes abandon you; rendering you to nothing but shattered forsaken ruins strewn across an empty bathroom, grasping and grappling to purchase any sort of rationale beyond the carnage.

You’re forced to silently choke on consternation at the sight of his chestnut waves bouncing against his shoulders as Jake weightlessly vanishes through the swinging door.

pretty please let me know what you think🫶🏼

taglist - @alwaysonthemend @becinabubblegvf @carbondancingthroughtime @edgingthedarkness @fleet-of-fiction @gretasfallingsky @gretasmokerising @gvf23 @heckingfrick @hsfallingsky @imleavingyoufornewyork @kiszkazz @klarxtr @itsafullmoon @jakesguitarsolo @jakesmustache @livkiszka @sacredjake @sparrowofthedawnsworld @takenbythemadness @thewritingbeforesunrise @tripthelightfatality @vanfleeter @wetkleenex-gvf @zoe-tally06

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list and know y’all have already made this so rewarding❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

[brain-usurped-by-bug]

Sugar and Smoke

King Candy takes advantage of the luxuries of his new life, while still longing for the simple pleasures of his old.

Characters: King Candy/Turbo, Sour Bill, Turbo Twins (mentioned)

Tags: Smoking, bubble bath, eating lots of sweets, angst

Completed on September 15th, 2024. 1476 words.

...

The new skin felt strange. It was softer than he was used to, higher definition. The flesh was unscared, the eyes bright, the cheeks jolly. The cadaverous pallor, the sunken eyes, the body he had carried his entire life was gone, phased out, banished into electric aether.

It wasn’t what he had before. He could smile again, but it wasn’t the same smile. He had a car again, but it wasn’t his red rocket. He didn’t have the simple pleasures of his home world; the gentle wave of the pixelated green grass, the earthy scent of the simple dirt loop, the reliable company of the twin racers…

Whatever. He didn’t need them. He didn’t need any of it. It was old software; untextured, primitive. The players had outgrown it, he had outgrown it. It didn’t deserve him. What he deserved was this! A castle, hundreds of subjects hanging off his every word, glitter graphics, high definition, a spotlight, a crown! It was the least fate could repay him for his suffering, rotting unknown in crawl spaces for ten years.

His honey brown eyes bounded over the walls of his new domain, cataloged it, let his mouth water. Pink cookie walls, rainbow sugar glass, sparkling white icing. It had been a long, long time since he’d had a taste of something sweet. 

At the urging of his tongue he dove in, flew through his castle, eager to see every room, sample every flavor. Devour it, all of it, literally and metaphorically. It was his, all of it, all of it! 

He admired the paintings of ice cream landscapes, chewed the corners off the nightstand in the cheesecake guest room, let the swirl of the lollipops hypnotize him, Let chocolate doorknobs melt in his mouth, ran his palms up the twisting licorice banister, broke peppermint decorations off the walls and sucked them to points. 

He was in the middle of licking the icing off a gingerbread headboard when he caught the movement of a stranger behind him. He leapt off the bed and hurried to make himself presentable. The stranger stared back, licking his lips, adjusting the cuffs of his purple suit. The stranger had that look on his face, the look of being caught in the act. 

He approached, cautiously. The stranger approached, cautiously. They lifted their hands, fingers meeting on the mirror’s glass. The strange reflection turned its head, ran it’s peach fingers over the wisps of gray hair above its ears, squished the soft cheek, pulled at the corner of the lip, ran a red tongue over white teeth. It stood back a bit, dusted itself off. The reflection wore a purple tailcoat, gold puff pants, caramel leggings, a lace collar, a gold crown and a shimmering red candy wrapper bow tie. 

Not a single color carried over, no textures, not a sliver of his old face. This was good. It was. No one would ever recognise him. Even he didn't recognise him. He left the room. The stranger moved to follow, then vanished as he shut the door.

…

His room…. His room…. Ooh… he couldn't make a decision on it. It was different. Very different from what he was accustomed to. There was a rug, a clean one. Gingerbread armoires, rock candy lamps, footstools, a fainting couch, a make-up desk, wallpaper, a four poster bed with satin curtains! All white and pink. There was no black plastic, no exposed wires, no oil, no rubber, no concrete, no trophy shelf. Just sugar. 

He wanted to fix it. Bring in the scent of tools and grease, rust, motor oil and gasoline, antifreeze, real dirt, real grime. Was there anything real in this world? 

He reached for the pocket of his jumpsuit. His fingers grazed gold silk. He chuckled nervously and moved a hand to the new pocket within the interior breast of his tailcoat. He removed the contents and laid them on the bed. His last cigarette. A nondescript lighter. The password to the code room written on the corner of a Tapper’s napkin. These three things were the only possessions he had deemed essential enough to take with him. His homemade beer bottle string lights, portable radio, cassette tapes, checkered flag pillow, the steering wheel of his old car, all had to be left in the bowls of GCS. They were too big. Too tied to his old name. They were useless anyway, he didn't need old junk dragging him down. 

He took the cigarette between his teeth, lit the end, and let the smoke ease his rattled code. Tabaco lifted his insides, wafted from his lips, overpowered the smell of sugar. He breathed, out and in, tapped the ash off and kicked it under the bed. His softened gaze fell on the door to the bathroom. His personal, private bathroom. A luxury the greatest racer ever had yet to experience. A smile pinched the corners of his mouth. He slipped his possessions back into his tailcoat and locked himself in the new room.

The bathroom was pink and white, same as the bedroom, but it had more of the later color than the former. The floor was tiled with sugar cubes and the windows were made from frosted sugar glass, but the pink clawfoot tub was remarkably normal looking. Finally. He turned the wheel atop the gold faucet and watched crystal water flow. He frowned. This wasn't some strange candy water was it? He wasn't going to bathe in soda. He parked his cigarette between his first two fingers and leaned over the edge of the tub for a taste. Alright, it was just sparkling water. He could deal with that. He put the cigarette back between his lips, tossed in a bit of soap that promised a perfect bubble bath and stood aside to remove his clothes. 

He found something to recognise once his model was striped to its base. The skin may be different, but he still had the same bones, the same basic shape. The oversized head, short limbs, long feet, pudgy belly. He shifted the cigarette from the right corner of his mouth to the left and stuck a familiar pose; chest lifted, right hand gripping a (nonexistent) trophy, left hand giving the thumbs up.

‘Turbotastic!’

He almost said, catching the phrase before it left his mouth. His arms fell to his sides. The cigarette drooped on his lip. 

Careful, careful. You can’t keep anything from your old life. It’s gone. You're not getting any of it back. You're above it anyway, you've grown beyond. Throw off the old rags. 

He breathed smoke from his nose, shaking his head and muttering nonsense. He tapped cigarette ash into the sink, turned the faucet off and eased into his bubble bath. The soap’s label had been honest, some of the bubbles were nearly the size of his head. It was probably scented like something sweet, but he couldn't smell it through the tobacco. The water was what he expected; warm, fresh. Cleaner than him, almost certainly. 

He lay back. Soaking. Smoking his cigarette down to its filter. He started to hum to himself. 

“Hmm… hm hm hm hm, hm hm hm hm, hm hm h-”

The trumpets of the Turbotime overture played between his ears. The cheer of the plywood crowd. The way his fingers gripped the wheel, the way he’d turn it at the south bend, the dust he’d kick up, the way the twins would curse him when it got in their mouths, the way he’d laugh. They would beat him up after the race sometimes, when he t-boned them or made them spin out, but they always forgave him in time. If they had lived, would they have forgiven him for-

No, no no no stop stop STOP. He had to stop thinking about it, it had to disappear, he had to forget. He needed a distraction. He should have brought his casetes, more cigarettes. He threw a bar of soap at the service button beside the door. He missed, badly. He threw a larger bar and hit it this time. A dreary voice crackled over the intercom. 

“King Candy?”

“Sour Bill! I need music brought to my bathroom!”

A long pause. “Like… a band?” 

“No no! A radio, a walkman, something along those lines!” 

“Mmmm… we have a record player.” 

“That will do. Bring it in.”

“Yes sir. What kind of music do you want?”

He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Anything, something… something energetic. I need cheering up.” 

“Yes sir. Is there anything else you need?”

He took a final drag, kept the smoke in his body as long as he dared, then let it escape. A ghostly tower, part of his soul fading into the air. He sighed. 

“No, that will be all.”

End

Author's notes: this was my first time writing fanfiction since like, 2019. It was fun to write something short and in a very different setting than what I normally write in. :)

[schizumizu]

No 026 Holy Fire Sanctuary

Fine Art Poster 12 cm x 12 cm

[electronickingdomfox]

The Kobayashi Alternative (or the 1000 deaths of James T. Kirk)

Finished this game (a text adventure) recently, and oh God, what a glorious mess it was!

The frame story (which only appears in the manual, by the way) places you as a Starfleet Academy cadet, playing a simulation of one of Kirk's famous missions, as a sort of alternative to the infamous Kobayashi Maru test (hence the title). But the actual game revolves around Kirk's mission, trying to find Sulu, who has disappeared in the Trianguli sector. And you're given complete freedom to explore the area and planets in whatever order you choose, and to mess the game in whatever way you want.

And that's my main point of interest here. I've witnessed so, SO many deaths for poor Kirk, because of my ill-advised decisions... Falling into craters, being run over by lava from a (not-so-extinct) volcano, sinking in quicksand, being eaten by a dragon, falling into a moat (and then being eaten), beaming down to a planet with a temperature of -250° in just my uniform (because why not?), or the more gruesome version of beaming down to a no-atmosphere planet without a spacesuit. It's also possible to return to Earth without finishing the mission, just like that, which gets you court-martialed. Or beam down some unsuspecting redshirt to a dangerous area, and to his unavoidable death (which here causes a Game-Over, very much unlike the series). Want to swear at someone until the crew arrests you for bad conduct? Check. *For the record, these are the swear words I found to work: bitch, bastard, suck, c*ck, f*ck, ass (use them in any combination you see fit). There's also many crazy things to do, which don't necessarily lead to a game over. Leave poor Scotty stranded on a planet and depart without him (good luck when you need something from Engineering). Or make Spock mindmeld with clay. Or tell McCoy to enter Spock's quarters, and just leave him there for the rest of the game. There's a planet with aliens that are offended by clothes and will put you in jail for wearing them (well, this is inaccurate, because James Tits-Out Kirk would definitely beam down naked, if it would help the mission... and make sure to video-call Spock right before doing so).

Anyway, despite being a primitive game from 1985, I'm impressed by the sheer amount of possibilities and open-ended options in this game. The graphic adventures from the 90's (25th Anniversary, and specially Judgement Rites) are much, much better games overall. But I wanted to talk a bit about these, more obscure text adventures.

If anyone's interested in playing them, I've found the best way is through this custom installer here, which includes all three adventures: https://collectionchamber.blogspot.com/p/star-trek-first-contact.html It automatically runs the games through an emulator for modern systems, and has the last version of Kobayashi Alternative (which is very important, since previous versions were buggy as hell). First Contact uses the same engine of Kobayashi, but since it's a much linear and smaller game, it's obvious a lot of options go un-used. The Promethean Prophecy is a more traditional text adventure. It has some ingenious puzzles, but I found its typical plot of "go there and collect gems" less Trek-like.

[kittycatblast]

big post about how i've been thinking a lot about final fantasy vii's art direction, graphical style, and a little bit on low-poly graphics

the art direction of ffvii feels very unique from anything in the series since. it's distinctly more exaggerated than most the series afterwards, and especially more than the compilation of ffvii and the vii remake series. i do wonder why this sort of art direction was abandoned in favor of the more realistic looks of later mainline games

this even feels present in the key art, compare the original vii art of tifa to the later artwork of her for dissidia

you can chalk it up to the refinement of nomura's own art, but i think there's subtle things that set em worlds apart. the shorter torso and longer legs make her boobs look cartoonishly larger. her elbow pad sort of popping out a little further appearing a hint more bulky. the more rounded profile of her shoes. her face is a bit round, there's not much detail on her lips and her eyes are bigger

my only hypothesis as to why only vii really had this style going for it was to compensate on the uncertainty of system limits early on in the ps1's life. i think the cast is very much designed with that in mind, let's take a look at cloud

he really is a pretty simple character design, smaller intricacies do exist but they are negligible. with that he works perfectly into both his battle and field models

almost entirely vertex colored, using textures for finer details only where they're absolutely necessary like his mouth and eyes (though iirc, the mouth was actually added in the pc version). it's a very...utilitarian? way of modeling? a lot of early 3d games had a similar way of modeling their characters, mario 64 is an easy example but i also think or the camelot mario sports games

but after ffvii the other mainline final fantasy games on would experiment with the more realistic look of viii and the exaggerated but more finely detailed presentation of ix, both games making use of impressive texture work and far less rudimentary models

like let's look at the concept art of zidane from ix compared to his in-game model

it's pretty much one-to-one in its detail thanks to the texture, it looks great! the charm of vii's models isn't there, but it has its own charm thanks to the already exaggerated style of the art the model was based on. it's comparable to the kind of low-poly stuff people make these days

sufficed to say though i like the blockier, primitive, almost toy-like look of ffvii and the other games i've mentioned. it's the exact kind of look i've been going for with my own 3d work

i'm not sure if i've even gotten my full thoughts out with this post but it's something that's been on my mind for a while regarding final fantasy games, old 3d games, and new games that look like old 3d games

[sgiandubh]

Weltanschauung

It's simply German for 'worldview' and I promised a couple of days ago (maybe more?) a Shipper Map of the World:

For contrast, I have added a Mordor World Map:

Be merciful and bear in mind I am by no means an expert in graphics and had to cobble them with the easiest (and probably also primitive) tools available. Plus I am sure I forgot at least a handful of secondary characters (Nicorette & co - oh, well...).

[kitsune024]

Itadori Yuuji || Ryoumen Sukuna Fic Recs

Crossovers : My Hero Academia

Cursed Twin by KNX7 I Chapters 34/? I Yuuji & Sukuna, BAMF Sukuna, BAMF Yuuji, eventual gore, No Romance

What if... Itadori Yuuji and Ryoumen Sukuna were a part of the bnha universe. Where curses are not a thing. How can their existence be explained by the rules of quirks? How would they impact the story?

Bow in the presence of greatness by RandomWeirdCat I Chapters 10/? I Yuuji/Sukuna Platonic, BAMF Sukuna, BAMF Yuuji, Sukuna is here to wreck everyone and poor Yuuji is confused, Blood and Violence, Graphic Description

𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐞𝐬? 𝐕𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬? What primitive fucking titles.“I’m neither.”

Sukuna/Yuji are transported into BNHA and the heroes don’t know how to handle the king of curses, neither do the villains.